Eidetic Image
by awcanonno
Summary: Anthony was Hydra-born and raised, given to the organization by his own father. But despite all his training and conditioning, his handlers were unable to keep him from thinking for himself. Once he'd grown, Anthony left it all behind. As it turned out, however, leaving was the easy part. Staying out and learning to be a person was the challenge.
1. Who the Hell is Arno?

**Eidetic Image**

by awcanonno/oFFs

#

**Summary:** Anthony was Hydra-born and raised, given to the organization by his own father. But despite all his training and conditioning, his handlers were unable to keep him from thinking for himself. Once he'd grown, Anthony left it all behind. As it turned out, however, leaving was the easy part. Staying out and learning to be a person was the challenge.

#

**Story Notes: **_In which Tony and Arno are in no way related yet look virtually identical (but Tony keeps the brown eyes because I adore RDJ). Contains Marvel 616/Comics references, but is mostly MCU-based. Summary update 2/16/20._

**Arno-specific notes:**  
For those not familiar with the comics: For the purpose of this story, it's okay to view/read Arno as an alternate Tony of sorts.

For those familiar with the comics: Arno was born healthy here. No 451. Since he'd have lead the life that Tony originally did, he is a lot more Tony-like, especially starting out. As the characters grow and develop, they should become more distinct, but Arno will probably still be a lot more like Tony than in canon, just due to the universal differences.

* * *

**Chapter One:** Who the Hell is Arno?

#

**_Early February_ **

Anthony drew in a breath of the cold New York air, looking up towards the sky only to grimace at the cold drops of rain falling against his skin. He received a few strange looks from passersby, but he was determined to enjoy this, his first true day of freedom, cold weather and near-freezing rain and all. It wasn't as though he hadn't endured worse things - he'd been raised and trained to endure interrogation and torture, after all. Compared to all that, dreary weather was nothing.

Taking another breath, he turned his attention back to where he was going, tugging his cap down over his eyes and pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. It was sort of nice. Being just another member of the crowd. Not that he'd entirely dropped his guard, of course, but one didn't really get to appreciate such things when they worked for an organization like Hydra. Or maybe he just needed to get out more.

He had just finished frowning at and circling around someone giving him more attention than he felt comfortable with, when a shout rose up from further down the street. Anthony tensed, ready to fight or flee as warranted, looking around to locate the source of the commotion, only to find - with much alarm - that it was _ him _.

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!" Several people brandishing cameras and voice recorders shouted as they thundered towards him.

"Arno! Look over here!"

"Stark, can you tell us how SI is dealing with the death of your father?"

"How long before you take over as CEO?"

"Has Stark Industries-" "Mr. Stark, have you-?" "Arno-"

_What the_ ever-loving **_fuck._**

Anthony threw up an arm to shield his face. The last thing he wanted was for his image to be plastered across some tabloid or another, betraying his general location to his former associates. Could they even be considered his former associates, yet? He'd only just left early that same morning.

"You've got the wrong person!" he declared loudly. This only resulted in an increase of flashes and questions from the mob of reporters pressing in around him. "No comment!"

This was not at all how this day was meant to go. As the group crowded in closer, trying to get a clear picture or a soundbite, the young man felt his nerves winding tighter and tighter. These idiots had no idea just how close he was to introducing each of them to the pavement.

Anthony retreated back, reluctant to cause more of a scene, seeking a viable exit strategy. He could contemplate the hows and the whys and the what-the-bleeding-hells once he'd gotten out of this mess.

There! A few more hastily maneuvered steps and he was at the mouth of an alley. He wasted no time in whirling about and fleeing, pulling over garbage cans to slow down his pursuers. Vaulting himself up onto the edge of a dumpster, Anthony leaped up to catch the bottom-most platform of a fire escape and hauled himself up.

It wasn't until he arrived, rather breathlessly, on the roof that he allowed himself to stop. He didn't dare peek over the edge, lest one or more of the journalists had a telephoto lens, but after listening long enough to assure they hadn't managed to follow him up the escape, he did allow himself a moment to think.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled to himself, removing his cap and dragging a hand through his hair. "What was _ that _ about?"

He knew about Stark Industries, of course - _ everyone _ knew about Stark Industries. Anthony himself was quite adept at replicating and improving their weapons. Naturally, he also knew about Howard Stark and his recent death (murder). Hell, he'd even heard about the man's son - Arno, apparently - and his supposed genius (and okay, the work credited to said Stark did seem pretty top notch, if Anthony said so himself).

What Anthony didn't know was why random reporters on the street were mistaking _ him _ for the heir to one of the largest and most renowned weapons manufacturers in the world.

Allowing himself only a few minutes to catch his breath, Anthony decided that whether he was being pursued or not, it was probably best not to loiter on top of random buildings. Also, his clothes were starting to get rather damp. In any case, he had some research to do.

… He probably needed a disguise.

#

The fake mustache kept peeling off his face. He kept surreptitiously pressing it back down but the little boy at the computer across from him was starting to shoot him suspicious looks. It had been awhile since he'd done any spy work, okay? Hydra had found him to be more useful in the labs maintaining and designing equipment. The last time they'd sent him into the field had been when they needed someone to infiltrate some hoity toity private school over in Britain. That had been nearly three years ago. A guy got rusty.

After what felt like an eternity, the library computer finally coughed up the search results he'd typed in. Hydra had a lot of faults, what with being full of a bunch of fanatics with very troubling beliefs (raised there or not, Anthony was a genius; he'd eventually noticed), but their technology was not one of them.

At the moment, however, Hydra was not his foremost concern. Second most, certainly - someone would have definitely noticed that he'd gone AWOL and stolen some information while he was at it by then. But no, his primary concern was Arno Stark.

Arno Stark, who had recently inherited an empire. Arno Stark, who apparently had a knack for catching the media's attention on a somewhat regular basis. Arno Stark, who at the tender age of 21 - Anthony's age, in fact - was already well-known and recognizable across the country and in much of the world.

Arno Stark - who _ had Anthony's face. _

He skimmed through article after article, pausing now and again to stare at the face he'd grown up seeing in the mirror. It seemed unreal but it was. It was very disconcertingly, inconveniently real.

"Well, _ shit, _" Anthony whispered more loudly than he'd intended. The little boy's mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide at his language. "Sorry," the man mumbled.

Quickly logging off the computer, he hurried out of the library. Keeping his head down and cap pulled low, Anthony walked hurriedly along. A litany of _ shit, shit, shit _ played in the back of his head.

How on earth had he lived his entire life without realizing he had a goddamned doppelganger?! Sure, Hydra could keep their people pretty secluded, but he hadn't been _ that _ sheltered. Had he? He had, hadn't he? Obviously, he had. He'd run away from freaking Hydra, well aware of just what they were capable of, without a single clue that his _ face _ was known _ everywhere _.

"Fuck!" Anthony burst out. A little old lady gave him a gimlet eye. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, ducking his head further down.

This was not how things were supposed to work out. He hadn't been away from Hydra for even one whole day before running into a problem. It couldn't even be a small problem. Oh, no, he just had to have one of the most recognizable faces in the country. How could that possibly complicate matters?

Anthony groaned. Fishing around in his pocket, he pulled out the new ID he had created for himself, his thumb brushing over the name. _ Anthony Strong. _ His mother's surname. Well, her stage name, anyhow. 'Anthony Armstrong' was a bit alliterative for his tastes.

His mother's name had been Amanda and she had been a singer and a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent - a real S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, not like his father Jude No-Known-Last-Name. His father who, it turned out, had murdered his mother and had stolen him away to be raised by an organization that would use him like a tool.

He wished his life had been different.

"Could've been billionaire playboy train-wreck," Anthony muttered to himself. He couldn't decide how much better that was than a Nazi-raised human tool. His guess was that it was still in the 'a lot' range.

Shoving the ID back into his pocket, he focused on reorienting his plans. First things first, he had to get out of New York and as far from the Eastern seaboard as possible. It wouldn't change the fact that he had a celebrity lookalike, but hopefully being far away from where the other man lived would cut down on the number of people thinking that they recognized him.

He could go overseas, but that was the sort of thing his soon-to-be old friends with Hydra would expect of him. Granted, they would also expect him to try to hide within a large populace or disappear to some small town. It was hard not to be known by a group of people who'd raised and trained and studied one from infancy, but he was trying, alright?

Besides, Anthony had no other choice than to disappear. He'd ensured that the moment he'd learned the truth about his mother and decided to betray everything he had ever known. Anthony knew very well what happened to insubordinate assets - and despite how he'd been trained, despite how vaguely well he had been treated, Anthony was well aware that he was an asset.

To be captured and taken back now would mean death - or worse. His only choice was to outsmart Hydra while somehow keeping his face from being recognized at every turn.

Keeping his head down, Anthony boarded a bus and disappeared.

#

** _Two Years Later, Sometime in June_ **

Tony was only half-listening to the barista as she chatted at him. To be fair, he was far more interested in the coffee she was making for him. She seemed friendly enough, he supposed.

"Say, but you must be real excited about Stark Industries expanding out here to California, huh?" she asked amiably, finally passing over his cup of life-giving nectar.

He offered a crooked smirk, winking as he shoved a large tip into the jar. "Less than you might think," he told her, playing up the British accent he rarely used anymore. Her brow puckered in confusion as he turned away.

People still mistook him for Stark, despite his best efforts. Of course, it didn't help that Arno Stark had decided to build a second set of offices in L.A. and move to the area. Why wouldn't he? Tony was just trying to keep a low profile. No big deal.

To be fair, though, Tony had taken the time to study and learn Stark's mannerisms. It hadn't been intentional, at first. He had just spent so much time reading articles and watching newsreels and videos about the man that he'd started to pick it all up.

At that point, Tony had decided that if he were going to do a thing, he was going to do it well. Who knew when being able to impersonate Arno Stark might come in handy? He really could have been the man's twin. They had the same hair color and skin tone, same features, the same height and build. The only notable physical difference between them, near as Tony could tell from photos and video clips, was their eyes. Tony's eyes were brown, whereas Arno's were blue.

That could be easily changed with colored contacts, not that it seemed necessary for everyday purposes. Eye color was definitely lost on most people. Granted, most people hadn't been trained to notice such small details in strangers.

Stepping out of the coffee shop, Tony made his way up the street, weaving between fellow pedestrians. It was probably about time for him to relocate. Stark had been in the area for around two weeks, increasing the number of people mistakenly identifying him as the billionaire. Tony had been in Los Angeles for longer than he'd initially intended, anyway. It wasn't the best idea for him to remain in the same place for too long.

Where to go, however. It would probably be best to go someplace small and out of the way, or at least somewhat less obvious. Tony had found that he rather liked the lively bustle of a large city, however. Perhaps a compromise? A larger city, but not a major one. That would surely suffice. It wasn't like Hydra was anywhere close to actually finding him. When he checked a couple days before, they were trying to track him down in South Africa. (He was actually a bit surprised that no one had gone after Stark believing the man to be him, yet, but he was sure that would happen eventually.)

Thus decided, Tony mentally cataloged what he needed to get done before moving on. There were a few people he needed to meet with before heading out of town and a couple bits of business to be settled. He was just pulling out his phone to make a few calls when someone abruptly stepped into his path.

"Oh, my god. You're him, right? You're totally him! I'm, like, your biggest fan," they gushed.

_ For the love of- _

"Um," Tony said uncomfortably, backing away - not that it increased the distance between him and the other person, since they followed. "No. You're mistaken. Sorry." At least they weren't pointing their camera at him. Yet.

"What?" they squawked, looking scandalized by his denial. They were also very loud. It was starting to draw attention. "No way. You look _ exactly _ like him - you _ have _ to be Arno Stark!"

Now, he could be wrong, but Tony was relatively certain that identity didn't quite work that way. "I'm pretty sure I'm not," he insisted, trying to remain diplomatic while searching for a way out of the situation.

"Hey - isn't that Arno Stark?" Someone else piped up and Tony resisted the urge to groan. He should have left the minute it was announced that Stark Industries would be coming to L.A.

_ Now _ the phones were being raised in his direction and he managed to hide behind his coffee cup before flashes started going off. Not for the first time, he wondered how Stark constantly dealt with such invasive attention. Did the man have no private life? Could he? Judging by the frequent articles online and in the tabloids, the answer was a resounding no.

And Tony had thought his old life was disenchanting.

The number of people crowding around him was still relatively small, but their respect for his personal space was rapidly dwindling. All this despite his protests that he was not Arno Stark. It was ridiculous. There were celebrities who lost their own lookalike contests and here he was not even the person in question.

It was really starting to look like his best escape option would be to dart across traffic, when someone at the back of the group piped up, "Wait - he's not Stark!"

That's what he'd been _ trying _ to _ say_.

"Stark's holding a live press conference right now. See?" Several people crowded around to peer at the guy's phone, murmuring in confusion and reluctant agreement.

Tony didn't stick around to see if anyone wanted to argue current events. He took off the moment attention wavered from him. The attendant of the lingerie store he'd slipped into shot him a dubious look but otherwise ignored him. That suited Tony just fine.

He loitered around the shop, discovering a few rather interesting things, just long enough for his would-be fans to fully disperse. Then he slipped back out onto the street, pulling out his phone even as he made himself scarce. There were arrangements to be made.

#

In his own defense, Tony wanted the record to show that even though he had rather thoroughly, uh, studied Stark, he never had any real intention to meet the guy nor interfere in his life in anyway. Bad enough that he sometimes got mistaken for him. It was simply better not to make things any more complicated.

The most frustrating thing Tony had learned about life outside of Hydra was that things rarely went to plan.

It was his last night in L.A. and he was making his way back to his apartment. He had just completed the last of his business, cutting his final tie to the city before he left. There was no knowing when or if he'd return, besides, he would be leaving his current identity behind. Tony Babbage would disappear and Nathaniel Edison would take his place. He would miss going by his real name, but concessions had to be made.

As he turned down an alley beside a local club, a door at the side of the building slammed open and a voice called out, "Hey, you!"

Tony still wasn't sure why he dove behind the dumpster rather than hightail it out of there. Really, his survival instincts ought to have been better than that. Nevertheless, he did just that, which is why he was still close by when he realized the man wasn't addressing him.

There was a grunt as someone was slammed into a wall, as well as the door opening and closing to let somebody disappear back inside. He missed the first bit of the conversation, but his questionable decision to sneak closer soon remedied the problem.

"-think you're so clever," the first man was sneering, "hiding in plain sight, but I know who you really are."

"See, that makes one 'f us, 'cos I've got no idea who you are," the other replied, words slurring.

Tony knew who both of them were. The one was Hydra. He'd never caught the man's name, but he'd often supervised when they had him do maintenance work. To be fair, the man probably didn't know his name, either. He'd only ever called him 'mechanic.'

The person shoved up against the wall was none other than Arno Stark.

Stomach twisting into knots, Tony seriously considered just walking away. Was it really his problem if some goon mistook Stark as him? Surely Hydra realized they looked alike, by now. It wasn't exactly rocket science. Either way, it wouldn't take them long to figure out.

That still left one problem: Arno Stark was still a genius like himself. Furthermore, he was the head of Stark Industries. He was the one designing most of the weapons.

Hydra wouldn't need Stark to be Tony. It was more than enough that he was Arno Stark.

_ Aw, hell… _

One goon, a drunk billionaire, and an otherwise empty alleyway. If the goon had backup, he'd probably have called them by now, so he was likely planning to bring in Hydra's runaway asset on his own. So, one on one with possible assistance? Sure, the guy was built like freaking wrecking ball, but with Tony's training and smarts, he should be able to handle him. What could go wrong?

So much.

So much could go wrong.

And yet, he had snatched up a can and beaned the goon upside the head with it before he'd even thought about it. "Hey, numbskull," Tony taunted, and it wasn't exactly the most original insult but a better one probably would've been lost on the guy, anyway. "I think you've got an eye problem."

For a moment, the Hydra goon gaped between Tony and Stark, clearly at a loss. But then, Tony was the one speaking with a British accent. Just like he had when he was with Hydra - one of the few things he had taken from his father and the first thing he had dropped.

"_You_," he spat, releasing the billionaire to turn on Tony.

Tony gave him a smug grin. "Me," he replied, feigning confidence he didn't quite feel. "Though, I do have to ask: you aren't alone, are you?"

The goon snorted. "Like I need assistance carting in a lab monkey like you."

"Right, then. So you aren't on the team assigned to bring me in," said Tony.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, that depends. If you were part of said team, for instance, you'd probably be better informed," Tony pointed out. "I mean, you know I'm smart - you've seen me be smart - but you seem to be ignorant about the other thing."

"What other thing?" the Hydra agent demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.

"The fact that I've had at least as much hand-to-hand training as you," stated the genius. The other man scoffed and Tony shrugged. "I did try to warn you."

Then, the goon launched himself at him, a fist already flying. Tony dodged the blow, ducking right and in to deliver a kidney shot with his elbow as the man's reckless momentum carried him forward. The agent let out a sound that equal parts pain and annoyance.

"Now, I can see how you might think that was a lucky move on my part," Tony remarked as he danced away. "But there's a very good reason why being left-handed won't be as much of an advantage as you're probably used to." He knew he should just shut up. Angering one's opponent was simply a bad idea in anyone's book, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

"_Shut up_!" the goon snarled, agreeing with Tony's subconscious. He lunged again. Admittedly, he was less obvious this time, but Tony still managed to deftly evade and deliver a couple more blows. He had to wonder how many drinks the goon must have had. Hydra agents usually held up a bit better.

"I'm only trying to let you know what you're-" Tony didn't quite avoid the next strike, catching a glancing blow to the ribs that still managed to steal his breath for a moment. "What you're up against.

"I didn't just-" He was forced to break off to focus on the next volley of attacks. Dodge, dodge, _again_, parry, jab to the spleen. "_Just _ work on the Asset's arm. I was also… _ Shit._"

The goon kicked out unexpectedly, taking Tony's leg out from under him. He wheezed as his impact with the ground forced the air from his lungs. Nevertheless, he was rolling a second later, only just avoiding a boot to the gut.

Now, Tony was getting angry, too - as much fear as adrenaline-fueled temper.

He struck out with his heel, hitting close enough to the goon's knee to do the trick. Then the rest followed fluidly, a lifetime of training taking over. For better or worse, he was Hydra born and raised. He finished the fight in three more moves.

Punch to the liver. Blow to the solar plexus. Elbow to the back of the neck. The strikes had been quick, efficient, brutal - just as he'd been taught.

"I was also _ trained _ by the Asset," Tony finally concluded, winded enough that he knew he needed to add physical training back into his routine. He straightened carefully, grimacing in discomfort. Definitely time to leave L.A.

Limping slightly for a few steps, Tony made his way over to where Stark was slumped against the wall of the alley. "Hey," he said loudly.

"Five more minutes," his lookalike mumbled.

"Don't tempt me," Tony muttered. Heaving a sigh, he crouched down and pulled one of the other man's arms across his shoulders. "Come on. Can't sleep here, genius. Where'd you park? Or did you take a cab?"

It took some doing, but Tony eventually got Stark into the passenger seat of his vehicle before climbing behind the wheel himself. Another couple of minutes were dedicated to rifling through the man's pockets for his car keys - of which he had way too many. Nearly an hour later, they were pulling up in front of Stark's shiny new Malibu mansion. Which Tony technically shouldn't know how to find.

Look, Tony knew his interest in Stark had long since crossed the border into stalkery. But the man was now home safe in one piece and not abducted by Hydra, so really, his thoroughness ought to be considered a good thing.

Wrestling Stark into the house and to the nearest sofa was another chore altogether. It was like trying to maneuver a large bag full of fish. He was unwieldy, ungainly, and not the least bit helpful in the endeavor, but somehow Tony managed.

Tony settled the man into the corner of the couch, making sure he was mostly upright in case he vomited on himself. That done, he turned to leave. A hand shot out before he was able to do so.

Blue eyes peered blearily up at him as the intoxicated billionaire took notice of him for the first time since the alley. "Hey," Stark addressed him. To the man's credit, the words were only the slightest bit slurred. "How come you've got my face?"


	2. Bringing Home Strays

**_A/N:_**_I goofed in the first chapter. It had been my intention to at least loosely adhere to a MCU time frame starting out, but then I had people pulling out cell phone cameras. Cell phones weren't ubiquitous in the '90s. I know this. And I still did it. Ack. Anyhow, for the general timeline here assume that 1) the modern characters were born about ten years later than MCU canon and/or 2) cell phones and such became common and popular a lot sooner than in reality. Both is good. Either way, assume we're somewhere in the 2000s._

* * *

**Chapter Two: **Bringing Home Strays

#

It was a very good question the billionaire was posing. Tony had been wondering why he and the man shared a face since the day he'd found out two years ago. (And if he'd accidentally technically stalked the man during that time, no one need know but Tony himself.) Barring them being twins separated at birth - unlikely since they'd been born a month apart on separate continents - there was no real reason for it. They just… looked alike.

Still, Tony wasn't exactly keen on the idea of Stark knowing he existed.

"You're drunk. And probably high," he reminded the man blithely. "We don't look alike at all. Honestly, I might not even be here. The mind's a weird place."

Stark stared at him for a long moment, all the while holding onto his wrist. "So. What you're saying is that you're my subconscious and I'm imagining you here so I have someone to talk to."

"Sure," Tony agreed after a beat, "and I think you should sleep it off. And hire a bodyguard."

"No!" Stark protested, tugging on Tony's arm so abruptly he nearly tumbled into the man's lap. "No. No, you - you're here because you're the only one that understands. Only one who cares. No one else cares."

Well, that sounded potentially depressing. He really shouldn't humor the guy in his current state, nevertheless, Tony still found himself asking, "What doesn't anyone else understand or care about?"

"Jarvis," Stark answered, voice choked with emotion. He slumped back in his seat, grip finally releasing Tony's arm.

"Jarvis?" Tony echoed, brows drawing together. Who was Jarvis?

"Yeah. Today-" he scrubbed his hands over his face, sucking in an unsteady breath. "It's the anniversary. When he died. He was just a butler, so no one cares. 'cept me. And you, but you're me, so… so, yeah. It's just - sometimes, it seemed like he loved me better than Howard did, y'know? Like, like, like it was enough. If I was just me. Jarvis cared anyway."

What...

What exactly was he supposed to say to _ that _? It wasn't like he could relate. If anything, Stark had had something Tony had never known to wish for. Love? No one loved an asset in Hydra, no matter how young they were. Sure, Jude had looked at him with something akin to pride, sometimes, but that had always been in relation to something he had achieved, more often in response to someone praising Jude rather than Tony himself. Tony couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his father (it had been five years, seven months, twelve days, and approximately nineteen hours).

From the sounds of it, Arno Stark had had multiple people who'd cared about him. Who had ever truly cared about Tony?

_ Smooth, cool fingers gently helping him to his feet while the handler's back was turned... _

_ A new offensive maneuver telegraphed just enough that he could avoid serious injury... _

_ Calloused fingers gently brushing against a trembling young hand when he'd accidentally triggered the pain receptors in the arm… _

_ Soft words - so soft, barely there - " _ Good boy _ ," murmured in Russian… _

Oh. _ Oh _.

"I'm sorry you had to lose him," Tony said, wondering whether he hadn't had a Jarvis of his own, missing the man regardless.

"Me, too," Stark whispered hoarsely. The man's eyes were shut and he was still long enough that Tony was certain he'd drifted to sleep.

Tony turned to leave once more, resisting the urge to snoop around. It occurred to him that this may be his only chance to really see how his double lived in person. When else would he get the opportunity to snoop around freely? An argument could be made that he had saved the man earlier that night. Surely that meant it was okay if he took a peek behind the metaphorical curtain.

Before could decide one way or the other, Stark abruptly appeared in front of him, eyes alert and hair in disarray. "We should work on the thing!" he exclaimed.

"Jesus Christ!" Tony yelped, jumping back in surprise. "I thought you were sleeping!"

Stark waved off his response, swaying slightly with the movement. "No time. Better things to do," he declared. "Now, listen - we should… What was I saying? Right, right, right - we should work of the thing."

"The thing?"

"Yeah, the AI system I've been working on. I'm _ so _ close! I just can't seem to… to… Look, I think I just need a second set of eyes," Stark tried to explain, sounding rather reasonable for a man who was still obviously trashed. "And really, who better to ask?" He made an encompassing gesture at Tony.

"You're asking yourself to give your project a second look?" Tony deadpanned. He reached out to catch Stark by the arm as he started to tip over backwards.

"Yes," Stark agreed emphatically.

"A bit vain," Tony muttered, then more clearly, "Didn't you already make an AI? Back when you were in college?"

It wasn't an obsession. It was curiosity.

Honest.

"Of course, I did, but this is different," said Stark. "I was so, so drunk when I made that thing."

"You're drunk right now."

"You're not wrong. Look, can we just look it over? _ Please _?"

Was the man really whining at him? He was. Arno Stark was whining at him - well, at himself, really - to look at some undoubtedly secret project. Of course, Tony was going to say yes, if for no other reason than he was curious (ie: nosey).

Keeping a stabilizing hand on the man's arm, Tony let Stark lead him through his house and down a set a stairs that led into what was clearly a workshop area set-up in the corner of a garage full of expensive cars. He briefly wondered if maybe he should not have left the other one parked out in the drive. It also almost made him miss the lab Hydra let him work in. Almost. Tony really missed having a dedicated lab. Maybe he ought to set one up in the next place he went.

When they reached the bank of computer monitors on the cluttered desk, Stark ushered Tony into the chair before shuffling over to sit on the arm of the battered couch nearby. Obligingly, Tony turned on the system and waited for it to boot up. Naturally, it was password protected.

Stark thought nothing of rattling off the non-intuitive alphanumeric code.

"Has anyone told you that you are way too trusting?" Tony asked.

"How am I supposed to keep myself from knowing my own password?" Stark countered.

And well, the man had a point. He was just lucky Tony had no interest in actually taking over his life. Even if it might have been beneficial in a lot of ways.

It was only another moment before Stark had directed him to the relevant folder and he'd begun opening up the various files.

"Holy shit," Tony mumbled to himself. He read through it all with increasing astonishment.

What he was looking at not only required intelligence and ingenuity, but also creativity - _ imagination _. That was never something Hydra had encouraged to any real degree. Tony could figure out any weapon or technology put in front of him, improve it even, but only in the ways requested by his handlers. There was no real room to branch out. They hadn't wanted him to get ideas.

So, Tony never would have conceived of something like the complex work of technological artistry illuminating the screens in front of him, but he could see how it all pieced together. He could see how it could - how it should - work. It was, for lack of a better word, _ incredible _.

"You really are a genius," he breathed aloud, following a line of coding with his fingertips in front of a monitor. It seemed there was also merit to Stark asking for another set of eyes, because Tony could see where some of the problems were, the kinks that were keeping the system from becoming functional. "Hey, if you-"

A loud snore snatched his attention away from the computer. Stark had slumped down onto the seat of the sofa, well and truly dead to the world.

"Entirely too trusting," Tony declared, shaking his head. He stared at the billionaire for a long moment.

He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. For one thing, he was supposed to be leaving soon. For another, he just shouldn't.

Well, maybe just a bit. A few lines of code here and there, a couple well placed nudges in the right direction. Stark would really just think he'd done himself, wouldn't he? In fact, he might not even notice if Tony did things right.

What were the odds the man would even remember he'd been there?

Just a few minutes of work, then. Except that a few minutes soon became several more than that, then even more, until more than three hours had passed and Tony really did need to leave immediately if he wanted to go collect his things and catch his flight. He'd have to 'borrow' Stark's car, but it would probably be better if he just parked it right back where he'd found it, in any case. After all, as drunk as he'd been, Stark most likely would have taken a cab home.

Stark muttered in his sleep suddenly, the sound finally wrenching Tony away from the project. He quickly pulled up a new document to type down a few notes not unlike the handwritten ones scattered around the work space, thoughts on things to implement and kinks still needing to be worked out. Hesitating a moment, he added two final notes:

_ Just A Rather Very Intelligent System _

_ Hire a bodyguard. _

The billionaire shifted in his spot on the couch and Tony practically lunged out of the seat. He glanced over his shoulder, confirming that the man hadn't actually woken, yet. He hurried out of the garage and up the stairs, sliding behind the wheel of the car in the drive a couple minutes later. Then he drove away into the predawn hours of the morning.

Tony hoped that Stark would finish JARVIS soon. The AI was already an incredible piece of work.

#

** _Later that year, September_ **

Tony had, despite a rather loud part of himself advising against it, found himself in New York. He'd tried living in Arizona for a few weeks, but it had been too dry. Kansas had been alright while he was there, at least so far as the weather, but then there had been that trouble with a university and unauthorized access to top secret government files.

Needless to say, Thomas Whittle was not an alias he'd soon be using again.

So, now, Tony was in New York, Brooklyn to be precise. It just felt easier to melt into the dense populace. He spoke most of the languages spoken by the people who lived in the area and was eager to learn the ones he didn't. As a bonus, he'd only been mistaken for Stark once and only briefly. Growing out his hair had helped - as had the fact that Stark had taken to having facial hair. It was probably only a matter of time, though.

It was early in the morning. Early enough, in fact, that not of people were out just yet. Tony was making his way to scope out an office building. Word on the street was that the company on the fourth floor had some interesting new tech designs and Tony had become acquainted with a person who might know a person who'd be interested enough to make it worth a closer look.

Also, it apparently had a new security system. Those always made a job more interesting to perform. Actually, Tony was rather more interested in studying said security than stealing designs for a potential buyer.

A quiet moan coming from an alley had Tony stopping to backtrack a few steps. He cast a wary look down the passage, frowning to himself. People ended up in these alleyways more often than many liked to believe. The sick, injured, hungover, those with no better options.

"Hello?"

And damn if his sense of self-preservation wasn't lacking. He should walk away. He _ knew _ he should walk away. Whoever it was, it was not his problem. Honestly, the last time he'd followed noises into an alleyway, he'd had to go toe to toe with a Hydra agent and he still wasn't sure he would have been able to take the man if he hadn't had a few drinks.

There was no answer to his quiet call, so naturally he had to move further into the alleyway. Because of course he did. For a supposedly smart guy, Tony found himself making some pretty dumb moves, sometimes.

Another soft groan drew him to the open mouth of a dumpster. A blond man was sprawled out amidst the garbage, bruises and cuts along every bit of visible skin. Tony stared a moment. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Obviously, a person lying in trash. Maybe less purple?

"Hey." No answer. Tony reached in to poke at the guy. "Hey, you alright?" Stupid question, but what was he supposed to ask?

The guy cracked an eye to glance at him before closing it again. Tony gave him a light shake.

"Hey - what are you doing in the trash?" he asked a bit louder.

"Huh?" the guy lifted his head off a cardboard box to peer at Tony. "Wha?"

"Why are you in the trash?" Tony repeated as clearly as he could.

His head flopped back onto the box as the guy shrugged a shoulder. "Happens sometimes," he offered unhelpfully.

"Right," said Tony. "Do you need any help?" The guy seemed to have drifted off, so Tony shook him again.

"Dude, can't a guy dumpster nap in peace?" the blond grumbled.

"Maybe when I'm sure you're not dying or something."

"Totally can't hear you right now," the dumpster man informed him, opening his eyes to look up at him. "Aid's 're dead. Or gone?" He raised a hand to fumble at first one ear, then the other. "Left is dead. Right is gone. Aw. Righty, no. That was my backup. Shit."

Tony waved to get the man's attention back on himself. "_ I vote we get you out of there _," he signed to him, hoping the guy knew ASL.

The blond seemed to brighten. "Oh. You sign. That's nice. A lot of people don't do that."

"Are you always like this?" Tony asked aloud and with his hands, "Or are you concussed?"

"Yes," the man answered seriously.

"Come on." Tony reached out an arm and this time the guy reached to take it.

The man gave a pained grunt as he was hauled out of the bin but seemed to be able to stand well enough, although he was favoring his left leg a bit. He was wearing an outfit Tony could only describe as some sort of lightweight body armor, sans sleeves though it was (in purple of all colors; Tony really hadn't expected the purple and he couldn't say why that was the thing he was having trouble getting over). A leather guard covered his left forearm while he wore what appeared to be a wristband with extensions for his three middle fingers on his right.

Tony turned back to the dumpster, shifting things around as he searched.

"Dude, don't even bother," the man told him, "that hearing aid is gone, and I'm not sure I'd put it back in my ear even if you did find it."

The brunet paused to address him, letting him see his lips and hands both. "I'm looking for your bow," he said.

"What?" the other squawked, blue eyes going a bit wide.

"Your bow. You're an archer - you've got your finger tab and guard on, so I assume you had it with you. Good bows are expensive. Judging by the muscles in your arms, you're no amateur, so you probably have a good bow."

"Right." The look he was giving Tony now had become speculative. "Wasn't in there with me. I think it's still on the roof."

"You fell from the _ roof _?!" Tony exclaimed.

"Sort of?"

"You need to go to the hospital - you could have internal bleeding."

"No. No hospital," the guy said. "I didn't fall all the way from the roof. At least, not all at once."

Tony stared at him, but also didn't press. It wasn't like he was in any position to judge. He avoided hospitals and other such places himself. "It's your funeral," he offered with a shrug. "Which roof were you on?"

"Uh…" the blond started to tilt his head to look up, only to grimace at the movement. Supporting the back of his neck with one hand, he tried again, then gestured with the other. "That one."

Maneuvering the guy to a somewhat sturdy-looking box, Tony helped him sit. "You alright to wait here while I go look for it?" he asked.

The man's eyes narrowed and he gave Tony a long look. "Okay, who are you?" he demanded, continuing solely with his hands, "_ And why are you helping me?" _

Tony took his time to consider the questions. Well, the second one, anyway. He wasn't sure the first one had a proper answer. The second question clearly mattered to the man, so Tony needed to answer it accordingly.

"You seem like you're having a rough day," he finally settled on, hands more hesitant than his voice as he replied. "I know a bit about rough days. Also, I hate losing my stuff. Be right back." He started towards the nearest fire escape.

"Hey," the archer called out and Tony looked back at him over his shoulder. "You never gave me a name." And he noticed the wording, that the man specified 'a name' as opposed to one that specifically belonged to him. It was deliberate, he was sure of it.

"Tony," he told him, making sure to spell it out, "_ T O N Y. _" It was both honest and not because it was short for his given name but the name he was going by was Antonio Rinaldi. He decided the semantics probably didn't matter much.

"Tony," the blond repeated, like he was weighing the name in his mouth, testing how it fit. It must have seemed right enough because he gave a nod. "I'm Clint."

"Good to meet you," Tony said. "I'll be right back."

Finding Clint's bow went rather quickly, bows tending to stick out in an urban environment and all. If there was a case for it around somewhere, though, Tony couldn't find it. He eventually went back down to the alley.

Clint was where he had left him, his head leaning back against the rough brick of the building. The blond seemed young like this, bruising around one eye and swelling around the split in his bottom lip. It reminded Tony of himself when he was small. When a handler or a trainer had lost patience with his questions or his attitude or they had just been in a bad mood.

Yeah, Tony knew about rough days.

He gently nudged the toe of Clint's shoe causing the other man to startle, eyes snapping open. "It's just me," Tony said aloud, trying not to talk too fast since his hands were occupied. "I got your bow."

"Dude, I could kiss you," said Clint, reaching out for said bow.

"Promises, promises," Tony grinned and handed it over. "You're welcome. Do you live around here? Got any family or friends to watch you for a bit?"

"Ah, no, I'm just passing through. I'll be fine."

"I'm pretty sure you've got a concussion. You should have someone keep an eye on you for a few hours, at least," Tony argued. "Look, if you really won't go to the hospital, at least let me take you back to wherever you're staying. Or even my place. It'd be a shame to dig you out of the dumpster just to have you die of a head injury or something."

Clint gave an amused snort. "Cheery," he said. "Fine, but we should go to your place. My motel probably isn't, um, secure."

"Sure thing," Tony agreed easily, helping the blond back to his feet. "You can stay as long as you need to."

"You make a habit of bringing home strays you find in the dumpster?" the man asked.

"No. You'd be the first."

"So, you're not usually this trusting of strangers."

It sounded too skeptical to really be a question, but Tony shrugged and answered anyway, "_ Not usually _." For his part, Clint just let out a scoff. Tony could have explained that he didn't trust him so much as he was certain he could take him or at least avoid him if need be - at least in his current condition, if nothing else. That was a lot of words, though, so he just focused on helping the other man along.

Clint would only be around until Tony was sure the man would be alright. A day, two at most, and the archer would be on his way again leaving Tony to his own. It wasn't like he was really bringing home a stray. They weren't going to become friends or anything.

Even Tony knew friendships didn't work like that.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Stuff

**Chapter Three: **Stuff

#

"It looks like a hardware store puked in here," was the first thing Clint had to offer as Tony led him inside his apartment. It wasn't a wholly inaccurate assessment: there were various tools and pieces of electronics on every available surface - including the floor. Despite appearances, however, everything did, in fact, have a designated place.

… Tony may have gone a little overboard with collecting scraps and building materials.

The brunet hefted a box from one end of the sofa to the coffee table and motioned for Clint to take a seat. Clint seemed to deliberate whether he'd rather stand before his sore leg made his mind up for him. He sat.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Tony asked before going for the first aid kit he kept under the sink.

"Water's fine," Clint replied, voice a bit more mumbly as he sank into the couch. A person had little choice but to relax when sitting on it. It was probably the ugliest piece of furniture to be found, but it was comfortable as hell. Tony himself had accidentally drifted off while sitting on it on multiple occasions.

"No problem," Tony said.

Clint offered a thumb's up in response, quickly succumbing to the comforting power of the sofa. It was only the second time the man had used his hands for any sort of communication despite his clear understanding and appreciation for the sign Tony had been using since the man mentioned his deafness. Tony wondered at the possible reasons behind this. Was it simply that the man was tired after whatever had led to him ending up in the dumpster? Or perhaps he was more accustomed to speaking to people who didn't know sign? His speech was quite good, only some of his words a bit slurry. He'd probably lost his hearing when he was older or underwent speech therapy or the like to learn to speak aloud clearly. Most likely, it had been both.

Not that it was any of Tony's business. He certainly wasn't about to ask.

Fishing an unopened bottle of water out of the fridge, Tony grabbed the first aid kit and returned to his guest. Clint had taken his remaining hearing aid from his ear and was turning it about in his hands. He looked up as Tony set the water and kit down on the coffee table.

"Hey, uh, do you think you might have any spare batteries that'd fit this lying around? Or a way to charge it?" he asked. "Would kinda like to have at least one of my ears working."

"I'll see what I can do," Tony replied, then tensed as the man held the device out to him.

Which was stupid. Tony knew it was stupid. Obviously, he was going to need the hearing aid if he were to replace the battery or charge it or whatever other solution might come to him. This wasn't some test or mind game wherein he would get punished no matter what he did. Normal people accepted things from others all the time. If he wanted to live in the real world, he-

Tony took a step back, hands coming together in front of him. His right thumb swept across his left palm, the faded, barely perceptible scar there seeming to scrape the ridges of his fingerprint like the edge of a blade.

_ "What are you waiting for? I said take it." _

_ The boy glanced warily at the red hot iron the woman held out to him with a pair of tongs before peeking back up on her face. Her expression was hard and unyielding. She was waiting. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out with his left hand to grab hold of it. He dropped it almost as soon as he had taken it, crying out in pain. _

_ "Stupid boy," the handler sneered. "What did you do that for?" _

_ "You said-" _

_ "That's right. Because I said so. You're a tool, an asset. You do as you're told when you are told. Even when you know it will hurt. You don't make choices. Hydra does that for you." _

"Whoa - hey! _ Easy _," another voice cut in, tone somewhere between urgent and soothing. "Just breathe, already."

Tony sucked in a breath of air, blinking rapidly until the blur of yellow and violet in front of him resolved into Clint. The other man had levered himself up from the sofa but hadn't moved any closer. He'd continued talking even as Tony struggled to get a hold of himself.

"You're alright. It's fine," he was saying. "You don't have to take it from me. I'll set it down on the table, see?" Clint moved carefully, telegraphing his movements as he held up the hearing aid before setting it down on the coffee table. "It's okay, man. All you needed to do was tell me you don't like being handed things. It's not a problem. Didn't mean to spook you."

"Sorry," Tony rasped. He tried to pull his hands apart so he could sign. It was only polite - Clint was speaking his language, after all. He couldn't quite manage it, though. "I just… It's stupid." _ So stupid. Not there, anymore. For god's sake, stop shaking and get a hold of yourself, Anthony! _

"Hey, look at me," Clint told him, causing Tony's gaze to snap to his. "Nothing that makes a person react like that is stupid. Okay? We've all got our stuff."

"Right. Yeah," he mumbled, still calming his breathing. He finally separated his hands, raising them to sign again as he continued speaking, movements jerky. "Are you good here? I mean, do you need - want any help? Patching up?" Tony indicated the first aid kit.

Clint shook his head, carefully sitting back down on the couch. "Nah, I'm good. A bit accident-prone, so I know my way around a medkit." He shot him a brief smile. "Thanks, Tony."

"Yeah, and uh, thank you. For - you know. Just, thank you," said Tony, then gestured towards the far end of the room. "I'll be over there. Doing… stuff. If you need anything." The blond nodded his understanding and Tony put words to action.

He settled in at the computer desk setup in the corner. Calling it a desk was a bit of a misnomer, as was referring to his computer as simply a _ computer _. Three different computer towers had been disemboweled and assembled together. Five monitors were arranged atop a desk and a table Tony had pulled in close for that purpose. Two keyboards and three computer mice took up the space in the middle, a fax machine and a printer balanced on the far left edge of the desk against the wall while more specialized (and not strictly legal) equipment took up the rest of the table on the right.

Sitting down in the beat up chair, Tony booted up the system and logged in. He checked his messages first, shooting off a few emails and letting his contact know he hadn't gotten the chance to scope out the tech company yet. That done, he focused in on the task of hacking his way into the Stark Industries computer network.

It was a challenge, as was often the case. The security had been upgraded again, though not by Stark himself, judging by the coding. Tony wondered whether the man had even been consulted on the updates or if he just wasn't personally invested in the cyber-security of his own company. Whichever the case, Tony soon lost himself to the task.

Some time passed, but he eventually made his way past the last firewall to poke around at the R&D project files. It was just more of the same old thing. There were new upgrades for the Stark rifle and handguns, a couple new body armors, and yet another killing device that would no-doubt end up in the wrong hands within a year of being completed.

Did Stark know what happened with his weapons? Did he care?

That branch of his curiosity sated, Tony took a break to check in on his guest and see about getting the stupid hearing aid he'd freaked out over working. Even more time than he thought must have passed because Clint had fallen asleep. A butterfly bandage held together the edges of his split lip whereas a bright blue bandaid with green cartoon characters on it covered a small cut at the edge of his blackened eye. There were several more bandages dotting his left arm, though it seemed he'd given up on patching the individual cuts and scrapes on the other side in favor of wrapping gauze around the entire forearm.

He was practically cuddling his bow in his sleep. It made Tony smile.

Grabbing up the hearing aid, Tony left the blond to his rest, making a mental note to wake him soon. He'd devote the time leading up to that to finding a battery or charger for the device - and maybe improving it a bit. Shouldn't be too hard, right? Though, perhaps, he ought to leave that for another time. It was probably bad manners to experiment with the belongings of people you didn't technically know.

Replacement battery found, he had just started in on the more challenging task of trying to hack into Stark's personal data servers when a startled shout came from the other side of the room. Tony practically jumped from his seat, relaxing only marginally once he'd identified the cause of Clint's alarm.

"U, leave him alone!" he commanded sternly, making shooing gestures at the robot.

"Me leave him alone?" Clint squawked. "I was just sleeping!"

The mechanical arm gave several beeps, claw rotating this way and that curiously even as it backed away. Its arm drooped in apology, although its camera remained pointed at the visitor.

"No, the robot is named U," Tony explained to the man, signing along as he'd been doing. "I forgot he was at his charging station. He's just curious. I don't get many visitors."

"You have a robot?" Clint looked between Tony and said robot, looking like he didn't quite believe what was before his eyes. His gaze then swept around what he could see of the apartment from the couch before he muttered, "Of course you have a robot, just look at this place.

"Why is it called U?" he asked.

"Dummy was taken," Tony shrugged. "I kinda ripped his design off somebody else. Just to see if I could make it work, really." He hadn't even _ meant _ to make the robot. The idea had just gotten stuck in his head and before he knew it, he was putting the thing together.

Clint gave him a long look, then regarded a rather enthralled U for an equal stretch. "You built a robot just to see if you could," he reiterated.

"Yeah," Tony confirmed with a nod.

Another look before Clint declared, "I can't decide whether you've got too much time or not."

Tony smirked in amusement. "I find ways to keep busy." He walked over to where he'd left the man's hearing aid and carried it back to him. "Found a battery."

"Awesome. Thanks, dude."

"No problem. You hungry? I was thinking about ordering some pizza."

"Okay," Clint said seriously as he finished hooking his hearing aid into his ear, "now I really could kiss you."

Tony laughed. "Let me go find the number."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Risks and Benefits

**Chapter Four: Risks and Benefits**

#

**_A Few Months Later_ **

Tony pursed his lips as he worked on hacking into files that were, officially speaking, none of his business. A lot of things were none of his business, but that never really dissuaded him. Hydra wasn't that great at teaching a person proper boundaries.

As he worked, Clint lay sprawled across the sofa watching TV on the other side of the room. Tony still wasn't sure how that kept happening. Initially, Clint had only stayed a couple of days before leaving, just as they had agreed. He had expected that to be the last he'd see of the man, but a couple weeks later, Tony had once again found him in an alley, dangling upside-down from a fire escape. The time after that, it was Clint that found Tony in a sticky situation.

Although the details they each shared were more vague than not, the two men had forged a camaraderie of sorts. The sofa had unofficially become Clint's on those occasions he was in town and in need of a place to crash, and Tony… Well, Tony learned that he actually rather liked having another person around to talk to and share ideas with.

The whole situation confused him, however. Were they friends? What precisely were the criteria to label something a friendship? He honestly didn't know. The closest thing Tony had ever had to anyone that might be considered a friend was the Asset and the man hadn't even remembered him most of the time.

So, perhaps, Clint could be his friend or he might simply be an occasional roommate who didn't pay rent. (Not that Tony paid rent, mind.) Either way, Tony felt ill-equipped to make any sort of determination on the matter.

"Dude," Clint spoke, "why do you look like this Stark guy?"

Tony's fingers froze on the keyboard. Then, he stood up and leaned right to see around his computer monitors to find that Stark was, in fact, currently on the news or something. It may have been one of those talk shows, judging by the loveseats people were seated upon. And the man had recently shaved, again. Bastard needed to make up his mind.

"Who says I look like him?" Tony asked, wondering whether Clint could even hear him at the moment.

The blond sat up to shoot him a look over the back of the couch, which answered that question. "Seriously?"

"Maybe he looks like me," he pointed out. It was a matter of perspective, after all. "Why are you only now noticing our resemblance? That's usually one of the first things people notice."

Clint shrugged a shoulder. "Don't really care about celebrities unless I have to," the man replied. "You really walk around with richy rich's face?"

Tony grimaced. "It's a challenge, sometimes. Seems he's well-known everywhere."

"That's gotta make things difficult." And they both knew that Clint was referring to the vocation Tony never told him about and didn't officially admit to having.

"I make do," said Tony. Clint watched him for another long moment, then flopped back down onto the couch.

This was why Tony was confused. Was that normal? Did conversations just end like that? What did it mean? Was it supposed to mean something? Was there some given way that _ he _ was supposed to respond in turn? Nobody had better ask Tony. Tony hadn't the foggiest idea.

After staring at the back of the sofa for a long moment, Tony finally returned to his chair and set back to his task. People were confusing. Computers and coding made sense - and if they didn't, Tony could just keep typing until they did. Really, Hydra ought to have considered socializing him better if they wanted him to be a full-fledged spy. (Though, maybe they didn't. Maybe they'd decided he was far more useful in a lab. His file didn't specify.)

"You really do look just like the dude," Clint's voice came from between his monitors. Tony might have yelped in surprise. He certainly did slam into the wall as he shoved his chair back. When had the guy even moved off the couch?

"Oh, my god, must you?" Tony exclaimed, pressing a hand over his heart. U trundled over with a concerned beep to see what was happening.

Clint rose to his feet and moved around the desk with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Tones," he offered. "You really do look just like him, though. Are you related to him or something?"

"No. Already looked into that. No relation, anywhere. Just a really odd fluke," answered Tony.

"Well, from what I can tell, you could be the man's clone. You could trade places with him and probably no one would be the wiser," Clint said, half-distracted as he held up different fingers for U's amusement, switching hands so the robot had to rotate its camera to follow.

"I'm sure the people that actually know him would notice if he suddenly started acting differently," Tony drawled.

The blond rolled his eyes without bothering to look away from his game with U. "Obviously, you'd have to study the guy's mannerisms and whatnot, learn about his personal relationships and all that jazz. Bet you could pull it off if you needed to. You're some sort of genius or something, right?"

"Or something." He'd overheard his handlers refer to him as a genius throughout the years but it never really meant much of anything to him. It was just part of what he was, a thing that made him useful. Tony had had no idea how unique a trait it really was until he'd gotten out into the real world. "Stark's a genius, too, they say. Regardless, it doesn't mean I could impersonate him."

"Maybe not," Clint agreed, shooting him a grin, "but it's fun to think about, right?"

Tony wondered again what precisely it was that Clint did for a vocation. He was certain it was about as legal as his own occupation. Probably a bit bloodier, considering the bow. Was he an assassin? A mercenary? Did he work for an organization or did he freelance? At the very least, he wasn't Hydra - Tony had been sure to scour every nook and cranny of their servers to make sure. That still left a lot of guesswork.

"Yeah. Fun," Tony murmured, watching as Clint patted U's claw and rubbed along the robot's arm. "Could also be a lot of trouble."

The blond smirked at him. "Well, yeah - who told you those things were mutually exclusive?"

Whatever it was that Clint did, Tony suspected trouble was definitely a large component.

#

They had done it.

They'd really done it.

Tony hadn't thought that they would again so soon after the last time, but they had. Hydra had activated the Winter Soldier. The Soldier was out on a mission. _ In New York _.

He acted immediately, putting together what he had on hand in the way of weaponry. If there was one thing Tony knew, it was that Hydra seldom let their assets out without some sort of supervision. In order to even get to the Soldier he'd likely have to cross paths with a few goons. He did take a moment to briefly reconsider as he put together his supplies, weighing the risks against the benefits.

Risk: Hydra knowing where he was.

Risk: Hydra recapturing him and doing god-knows-what to punish him and make him subservient again.

Risk: Dying.

Benefit: The Asset could be free.

Benefit: Without the Asset, Hydra would be that much weaker.

Benefit: Tony could save him.

That reason alone was enough for him to try. Nevertheless, Tony was sort of hoping Hydra didn't have that many agents keeping tabs on the Asset. He was only one guy, after all, and even Hydra-training could only take him so far. In hindsight, he probably should have checked that particular detail.

"Where's the fire?" Clint asked as Tony rushed by in dark clothes, a pack thrown over one shoulder.

"Family emergency. I'll be back later," was Tony's vague response before hurrying out the door. There was little time to lose.

Tony hadn't even paid much attention to the Asset's mission - retrieving some top secret package from a warehouse. The details he had seen had been rather sparse. All Tony really cared about was getting to the man and trying to _ reach _ him.

He knew that the odds weren't really in his favor. Tony also knew that the Asset was just as likely to attempt to kill him or bring him in as he was to recognize or even listen to him. But he had to try. Who knew when he would next get an opportunity like this? He had to try to free him. He just had to.

The warehouse in question stood among a cluster of similar buildings beside an old tenement house. About one in three didn't seem to be in use anymore. It was exactly the sort of area Tony would expect to find a Hydra operation, really. (Someone really ought to teach them about cliches.) He carefully scouted the perimeter, the presence of people obviously guarding the various entrances proof enough that he was in the right place. They carried themselves like Hydra; it was a very distinctive posture.

Weighing his options, Tony concluded the side door in the alley behind an old dumpster would be the best point of ingress. Both the front and back of the building allowed too much space for additional agents to be watching from where they could not be readily detected. The alley, however, was dissected by a brick wall and a heavily chained gate. Furthermore, the two men standing guard there were visibly bored. In Tony's experience? Bored meant inattentive.

Tony approached from the opposite side of the wall. He avoided the gate entirely, choosing to scale the wall and drop in on the goons from above. Drawing in a slow breath, he vaulted into action.

The first man took a stun gun to the neck as Tony landed on top of him. Before he'd finished falling, Tony whirled on the second man, aiming a booted heel at his forearm as the agent brought his weapon to bear. Tony's elbow snapped back into the side of the man's head a moment later, his fingers tangling in the guy's jacket in order to yank him down as he slammed his knee up into his torso.

Relieving the agents of their weapons and radios, Tony bound them and stashed them behind the dumpster. Then, he made his way into the warehouse.

It was dim inside, that eery hush native to places a person didn't belong settled upon the space like the layer of dust upon the shelves. Tony crept along the aisles with near-silent footsteps. His senses were on high alert, ears straining to hear the smallest sound, eyes flitting about for any sign of movement, fingers shifting lightly against the grip of a handgun.

He was equal parts surprised and relieved when he came upon the Asset. The soldier stood before a large crate on a shelf near the middle of the maze of shelving units. His back was facing Tony, but the arm was unmistakable. Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, Tony cautiously stepped closer.

"Winter," he whispered.

There was no response.

Tony frowned. The Asset's enhanced senses were well-documented. There was no way the man hadn't heard him. And why wasn't he moving? If he had reached his objective, then he should be acting upon it, not just standing there. Tony cast his gaze around warily, but there was no sign of anyone else, no visible cameras.

"Winter!" he repeated more loudly, almost at normal speaking volume.

This time, the Asset turned his head enough to see him out of his peripheral. He was wearing the mask - muzzle, more like - but not the goggles. It wasn't much of an improvement in Tony's books.

"Hey," Tony said softly, moving closer, his gun held low. "Look, you probably don't recognize me, but you know me. I… I came to help you, alright? But to do that, I need you to come with me. So, if you would just-"

A man the size of the Winter Soldier had no business maneuvering with lightning-fast reflexes, but that had never stopped him. Before he'd fully processed the fact that his gun had been wrested from his grasp, Tony found himself with both wrists pinned to the middle of his back in a metal fist and a leather-clad arm around his throat.

"_ Target acquired, _" the Asset spoke aloud in Russian near Tony's ear.

That was about when Tony acknowledged the possibility he hadn't really let himself consider before: Hydra had already known his whereabouts and he was the package. The entire scenario had been about recapturing him. Because they had known he was in their systems and they had known he would make a play to free the soldier. As much as Tony hated to admit it, Hydra knew him almost as well as he knew them.

"Winter, don't do this!" Tony pleaded, struggling as best he could in the man's hold. He could hear footsteps closing in on their position. "You have to let me go. Please, you know me. You've helped me in small ways before, remember? It's me. It's Anth-"

"Anthony," another's voice cut in, the sound sending ice down Tony's spine. The man to whom it belonged turned into the aisle, shaking his head reprovingly. "Anthony, Anthony… You know as well as anyone that your begging serves no purpose. The Soldier does as he is ordered. A lesson with which you've always struggled."

Leonard Braun had played a part in Tony's life for as long as he could remember. He was a professor, but of what precisely, Tony still wasn't certain. The man had been the one to teach him to read and write and do simple arithmetic before Tony had taken over most of his own learning. Then, he had returned periodically to track his progress and oversee various tests throughout the years.

Tony hated him. The man had never personally done him any harm, but many of the most painful moments of Tony's life had occurred at his direction. He had sat by and dispassionately observed time and time again as Tony had been made to struggle and hurt and bleed.

Too many of Tony's nightmares featured Leonard Braun's uncaring face.

"Maybe it wasn't a very good lesson," Tony gritted out, "or maybe it was just the teacher. Not everyone is cut out to teach, you know." Three more agents appeared, closing in from different directions.

"Oh, I'm inclined to agree," said Braun. "I advised the director that your handling was too lax and it would fail to engender any true loyalty in you. My suggestions were disregarded. Now that you have proved me right, however, we can finally remedy the flaws in your education."

"By which you mean brainwash me," Tony countered. "You know, I've seen Hydra's methods. Aren't you afraid of, I don't know, damaging my brain? I mean, you guys still want me to build stuff for you, right? Probably gonna need to do at least some thinking to be able to accomplish that."

Braun gave him an unpleasant smile. "Perhaps, but I am confident we will be able to ensure your obedience without causing too much damage. We won't know until we try, now, will we?" he smirked, then addressed the Asset, "_ Bring him. _"

The Asset removed his arm from around Tony's neck in favor of grabbing him by the back of the jacket instead. He tightened his hold on his wrists and shoved forward. Tony did his best to dig in his heels, but it was about as effective as pushing back against a tank.

Still, futile or not, Tony wasn't about to just give up. He had to keep fighting. If he had just one ally-

One of the goons abruptly stumbled forward and fell, an arrow sticking out of his back. In the next instant, the Asset had shoved Tony behind him towards one of the other agents, left hand snapping out to catch another arrow from the air. Things quickly devolved into chaos and Tony did his part to contribute.

Tony took the momentum from the Asset's push to slam against the agent trying to grab hold of him, cracking the back of his head into the man's face the moment he was in range. His left elbow snapped back into the agent's spleen and Tony followed the movement around, snatching his sidearm from its holster. He shot the man in the leg for good measure, firing off several more shots at the others before he darted around a shelf and tore off down the aisle.

"Get him!" he heard Braun screaming. "Don't let him get away!"

More agents had entered the warehouse. Tony could hear them running and shouting, quickly converging on his location. It was only a matter of time before they had him surrounded. There was no getting out of this. Unless… He glanced up. Well, it had worked for Clint, hadn't it? Grabbing hold of the closest shelf, Tony started climbing as fast as he could. As he neared the top of the unit, a pair of goons skidded around the corner.

"There he is!" one of them shouted.

"Shit!" Tony cursed, scrambling for the next shelf.

A hand wrapping around his forearm startled him badly enough that he nearly let go entirely, but Clint held on tight and hauled him the rest of the way up. He was just in time, too, because the Hydra agents had started to take shots at him. They ducked away from the edge as a bullet ricocheted past.

"We get out of this, I'm getting an explanation," Clint informed him sternly. The man was dressed in his dark purple body armor, bow and quiver slung across his back. Tony had never been so happy to see a person in his life.

"Right, sure," Tony agreed a bit breathlessly, "can we get out of it, first?"

"Follow me."

The blond took off along the shelf, keeping low as he ran. Tony followed his lead. About halfway down the row, Clint peeked down into the aisle opposite the agents trailing along beside them. He slowed enough to turn towards Tony a bit.

"_ Jump _," he signed. He didn't bother waiting for a response, immediately taking two running steps before matching action to word. The archer landed lightly atop the other shelf then reversed course.

Biting back an expletive, Tony took a second to measure the distance against his jumping capabilities before deciding it was probably do or die, anyway, and made the leap himself. He landed near the edge of the other surface. It also felt like the thing swayed a little when he did so, but there wasn't really time to worry about that at the moment. He continued after Clint.

They hurried along as fast as they dared, trying to outpace their pursuers on the floor. Each jump became a little bit easier for Tony. Each new shelf-top brought them closer to the wall of the warehouse and therefore a window. Things were actually going remarkably well.

Until they weren't.

The thing about the Asset was that he was programmed to problem-solve. The thing about the Asset's problem-solving was that… well, 'creative' seemed too innocuous a word for how violent things often turned out.

There was the loud groaning of shifting metal and then a loud crash as a shelf several rows behind them tipped over into its neighbor. "Aw, shelf, _ no _," Tony saw more than heard Clint say.

With no time to reach either end of the unit they were on, the two men jumped straight to the next shelf, then the next, no longer having the novelty of doing things a little more safely. Tony was half-afraid his forward momentum would hurl him off the opposite edge of a shelf or that he'd miss a step and fail to reach the next surface entirely. Then, the toppling shelves had reached them and he was certain he was about to break an ankle and be crushed to death as they barely had time to jump onto a unit before it was tipping under their feet. A few more shelves and they would have reached the window, too - not that they could have safely jumped out at such a height, so it was probably just as well.

Only Clint had pulled his bow from his back, hitting a few buttons on his quiver before drawing out an arrow. "Grab on!" he shouted. Then, he fired, glass shattering as the arrow passed through it to lodge somewhere in the side of the brick building across the alley.

Tony reached out to grab hold of Clint's waist as they leaped from the final shelf. They sailed through the raining shards, ducking their heads to try to protect their faces. Just as they began to fall, the grappling line pulled taut and they swung forward until they collided with a fire escape.

Clint, obviously accustomed to such rough maneuvers, recovered first. The blond scrambled onto the landing before dragging Tony up over the rail and pushing him towards the ladder. "Go! Go! Go!" he urged.

He needn't have done so - Tony was going as fast as he could coordinate his hands and feet. Hydra would still be right on their tails and even if they now had a marginal lead on the ordinary goons, the Asset was fast. He was very fast.

God, what had Tony been thinking, believing he could actually pull off such a thing?

They tore across the roof and practically flung themselves down the opposing fire escape. After that, Clint proceeded to lead him along a disorienting route through alleys and abandoned buildings and sections of sewer that weren't nearly so vacant as they ought to have been.

By the time they arrived at their apartment, they were both filthy and exhausted and sore. They were both covered in cuts from the broken window. Clint was favoring his left leg again. Tony himself felt like one large bruise.

More than that, however, Tony felt like a complete moron. The Asset hadn't recognized him. Of course, he hadn't. He'd _ known _ that would most likely be the case. Yet, somehow, he still felt incredibly hurt by that.

The fact that he should have known it was all a trap made everything so much worse.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Friend Tony

**Chapter Five: Friend Tony**

#

Clint closed the door behind them, turning a serious look upon Tony. "Any chance those people will come after us here?" he demanded.

"No," Tony shook his head with a grimace. "If they knew exactly where I lived, they would have just come directly here. They wouldn't have had to set up that thing at the warehouse."

The blond peered at him for a long moment before finally giving a nod. Taking Tony by the shoulder, he then led him over to the sofa and pushed him down onto the seat, ignoring Tony's protests that he was fine. _ "Stay put," _ he told him, the movement of his hands emphatic.

He went off towards the kitchen, limping slightly. Which didn't seem right to Tony. Clint should have been the one sitting on the couch, elevating that leg. The brunet shifted to go after the other man, but the motion made his ribs complain so he settled back into the cushions, eyes drifting shut.

"Don't sleep," Clint snapped aloud, sending a stab of pain into Tony's temple.

Tony winced, eyes snapping back open. He let out a hiss as Clint pressed a towel-bundle of ice against the side of his head, jerking away from the contact and sending stars across his vision. Clint gave him a look until he sat up straight. Then, he set the ice against Tony's head again, picking up one of Tony's hands to take over the job of holding it in place.

_ "I think you're concussed, _ " Clint informed him, thankfully silent. He gave Tony a wry look. _ "You didn't notice the head injury?" _

"Was kinda focused on not dying." Now that it had been pointed out, though, his own voice did seem god-awful loud. Ouch.

_ "I think it happened when we hit the fire escape. You're favoring your ribs, too." _

_ "Noticing that," _ Tony replied a bit clumsily since one of his hands was occupied.

The corner of Clint's mouth quirked. _ "Let's get you patched up, genius." _

_ "What about you?" _

_ "It's a few cuts and a sprain," _ Clint shrugged. _ "I'll be fine. Head injuries and potentially cracked ribs come first." _

Which was a valid point, Tony supposed. Although, the argument could probably be made that his concussion couldn't be that bad if it had taken him this long to notice. Probably.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" Tony questioned softly, letting the ice rest in his lap while Clint dabbed iodine on what must have been a pretty good cut along his left temple.

Clint paused in his ministrations, gaze grimly meeting Tony's for a second before turning back to his task. "Let's wait until talking stops doing your head in," he suggested just as quietly. He put a few butterfly stitches into place before grabbing Tony's arm to direct him to put the ice back to his head.

_ "Thank you," _ Tony told him.

_ "Any time," _ Clint replied, including a sign Tony couldn't immediately identify. When it occurred to him what it had to be, given the context, it filled him with a burst of warmth. It was Clint's name for him - the way he'd decided to sign it: _ "Tones." _

#

Finding a comfortable lying down position with sore ribs was no easy task. Which surprised no one and Tony least of all. In the end, Tony remained in a mostly upright position with his legs propped up on the coffee table. Clint had foisted four painkillers on him after patching him up then settled himself into the opposite corner of the couch.

They sat quietly, Clint scouring the news stations with the television on mute as Tony dozed in and out. If Tony fell asleep for too long at a stretch, the blond nudged him back awake. The rest of the night passed in this way and by the time daylight was seeping through the windows again, Tony's head no longer felt like it was trying to split open.

Clint got up and limped out of the room while Tony blinked groggily. He returned with a glass of water, holding it out for Tony to take. "How's the head?" he asked.

"Better," Tony replied, reaching up to probe at the injury. "A little tender, but, ah, the headache seems to be gone for now. At least mostly."

"That's good," said the archer, nodding slightly. He sat down on the edge of the coffee table so he was facing Tony, left leg stretched out. He regarded Tony for a very long moment. Then, he drew in a breath and blew it back out. "What the fuck was that last night?"

Tony grimaced and diverted his gaze. He calculated the probability of explaining himself without revealing too much of his past. Said probability was pretty low if he intended to make much sense or satisfy Clint's demand for an explanation.

"Dude, you might as well just tell me," Clint cut into his thoughts when he took too long to answer. "I thought you were a hacker, what with all the electronic stuff, maybe a thief, but that's not it. At least, it's not all of it. Hackers don't have the sort of training you obviously do. And those people at the warehouse? Seriously bad news, man. So, out with it."

Sighing, Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, glancing back at Clint but not quite able to meet the blond's eyes. "I can't tell you everything," he began.

"Then just tell me what you can," Clint told him.

"I was trying to help my friend."

"The guy that grabbed you."

"Yeah, he… he probably didn't recognize me," admitted Tony.

The archer gave him a skeptical look. "Your supposed friend didn't recognize you?"

"No, but there have been times that he has. Sort of. Maybe," said the brunet, frustrated that his account was already growing complicated. "Look, before they send him anywhere, they wipe his mind so there's nothing but his training and whatever mission they give to him. It wasn't his fault. I should have known they were using him to draw me out to capture me."

"Okay, but who are 'they'? And what do they want with you?" Clint asked. "Seems to me, you've skipped the beginning and jumped right into the middle of the story. Who are you? Hell, what are you? Are you human? A - a clone? Is that why you look just like that Stark guy?"

"No. No, I'm not-" Tony shook his head. "I'm not a clone. Just human. The fact I look so much like Stark is really just a coincidence. Hell, I didn't even know he existed until…"

"Until?"

"Until about three years ago, when I… left. Escaped. I escaped, and nearly the first thing I learned was that my face is known everywhere."

Tony chanced a look at Clint's face and his expression conveyed just how poorly he was clarifying things. He heaved another sigh. Already he had said more than he had ever planned to share with anyone, but it was clearly not enough. He wanted his explanation to be enough. More than that, he really wanted to trust Clint with what truth he could offer the man.

"I was raised by a group of authoritarian paramilitary… terrorists would probably be the most succinct way to put it. They're this cultish, top-secret organization bent on world domination. Like you said: seriously bad news," Tony relayed. "I was trained to fight and… and a lot of other things. My whole life, they prepared me to do anything they might need of me.

"My handlers and trainers noticed pretty early on that I was good with weapons, but it wasn't until I was around ten - maybe eleven - that they realized I had a knack for modifying them. In fact, I had a knack for modifying, even building, anything they put in front of me. If it was mechanical or electronic, I took to it as easy as breathing.

"So they used me," Tony said grimly. "And I modified and built stuff - weapons, mostly, of course. And I trained. And I learned. Sometimes things they didn't want me to be learning, but I'm a genius. They didn't really have anyone who could keep up with me intellectually. I expected that to be my life. It sucked, but what can you do?"

"Jesus, Tones," Clint breathed out.

The brunet raised his head, offering a wan smile. "That was about the time I learned that my mother had been murdered and my father stole me away to be raised as some sort of human tool or something. Or I guess, maybe I'm a weapon. I don't know. I just knew I couldn't stay," Tony declared. "But when I saw that the soldier had been deployed… My life has been rough, sometimes, but it's nothing compared to what's been done to him. I had to-" He broke off to release a shaky laugh. "I thought I could save him. Instead, I nearly got you killed with me."

For a long moment, neither of them said anything else. Tony watched as Clint studied him, the blond's expression too complicated for him to decipher. Finally, the man blinked rapidly and raked a hand through his hair.

"Well, shit," he declared. "And I thought being raised by carnies was weird."

Tony felt his brows draw together and he hesitated before tentatively asking, "Carnies?"

"Carnival workers. Circus people," Clint supplied. "God, this explains so much about you."

"It does?" Tony asked warily.

"Yes! Dude, I've been trying to figure you out since we met. One moment, you're all super-genius smartypants and the next, you're clueless about some everyday thing that everyone knows about. And nobody just knows sign language, let alone however many other languages you speak. I know it's at least four."

"Probably closer to eight or nine, depending on whether you count dead languages and computer coding," the brunet offered.

"You know at least ten languages," Clint stated incredulously. "Of course, you do. Why not? Holy shit. You were raised to be a spy."

"I guess? I mean, they didn't really use me for spywork that often after they learned I was so good at building stuff," said Tony.

"You said they figured that out when you were _ ten _!" Clint squawked.

"Yeah..?"

"They used you as a spy before that?"

"Oh," Tony rubbed at the back of his neck and shrugged a shoulder. "A few times? There are places adults can't really go."

"Holy shit, dude," Clint reiterated.

Tony looked down at his hands, right thumb pressing against the faint scar in his opposite palm. His mouth quirked up in amusement despite himself. "Yeah, that's probably a good way to summarize it," he agreed.

Clint snorted and shook his head. "So, what now?" he asked. "I'm guessing you probably shouldn't stay put, even if they don't know exactly where you live. Bad enough they know the city."

"I've already stayed longer than I should have," the brunet sighed. He glanced over to where U sat in his charging port. Maybe he could devise a way to have the bot shipped to wherever he went next. Or perhaps, it would be best to leave it in storage until he could return. Tony looked back at Clint to find the blond following his gaze.

"I think I know someone who could look after him until we get settled," he offered.

"'We'?" Tony echoed in surprise.

"What? You think I'm gonna stick around after that daring escape of ours?" Clint asked, raising a quizzical brow. "Even if they don't know my face, they know you've got backup. And let's just say, I've got enough of a rep that they could probably figure out who I am, even if it's just my alias."

"Right. Not really a lot of people using bows and arrows, these days," Tony said.

"Exactly," Clint confirmed. "Also, in case that big brain of yours hasn't figured it out, yet, that's what friends do, Tones. They watch each other's backs."

"We're friends?" the brunet asked uncertainly.

The archer gave him a smirk, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "Yeah, genius," he told him. "We're friends."

#

** _Malibu, CA, About a Week Later - Early January_ **

"You know what? I'm sick of this," Arno Stark declared, adjusting the position of the touchscreen monitor again when it blocked too much of his view of the rest of the garage. "Move the holoscreens up the priority list, would you, Jarv? I just cannot deal with these monitors cluttering up my work space, anymore."

"Of course, sir," a disembodied voice with an English accent replied. "How else would you make room for more clutter? I mean, projects."

"Ha. Sarcasm. Cute," Arno drawled. "I want it on record that you did not get that from me."

"Noted," JARVIS stated dryly. "Speaking of which, would you like to see the article I found in a New York newspaper?"

"You got a bead on our friend?" The man glanced at the AI's camera before turning his attention to the closest computer monitor where the article soon appeared. "Okay, so a warehouse on the bad side of town got trashed. What makes you think not-me was involved?"

Several grainy images popped up on the screen. "These were taken by nearby security cameras on the day in question," the AI supplied.

"Huh. Looks like our friend's got a friend," said Arno, tapping at an image of his lookalike leaving a subway tunnel with another man. "Have we got a new name?"

"A search of local DMV files suggest he went by the name Antonio Rinaldi." JARVIS pulled up the license in question.

Arno let out a low whistle and slouched back in his chair. "That will never not be weird. What do you think is with the hippie hair?"

"I believe it to be an attempt to lessen his likeness to yourself, sir," said JARVIS.

"Yeah… I don't think it's working," the man concluded, tilting his head to one side as he considered the other man's image. "Are you noticing a trend with his identities? I mean, he was Tony Babbage, what, three identities ago?"

"Four, sir."

"Right. And the first time he showed up. What was his name then?"

"Anthony Strong."

"Anthony, Tony, Antonio," Arno uttered thoughtfully. "Has he used any other names that have been similar like that?"

The AI took a brief moment to scan the information on file. "From what I have compiled so far, he has not," he replied.

"Well, what do you know. Let's call him Tony from now on," the billionaire said.

"A logical leap, sir."

Arno went back to trying to find an ideal position for his computer monitors before pausing again. "Hey, JARVIS? When was the last time Tony hacked into the server?"

"It has been quite some time. He is due to try again," reported JARVIS.

"'Try'," scoffed Arno, rolling his eyes. "Next time he breaks in, introduce yourself. But don't let him know I'm on to him. I want to see what he'll do."

"As you say, sir."

"Oh, and see if you can figure out what he did with the arc reactor blueprints he downloaded."

"I still think you're remarkably blase about that, sir," the AI opined.

Arno gave an impish smirk and shrugged a shoulder. "Like I said, Jarv," the man declared, "I want to see what he'll do."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	6. Better Options

**Chapter Six: Better Options**

#

**_About a Month Later, Mid-February_ **

They had settled into a basement flat in a small town in southwest Ohio. Tony's collection of scraps and parts were confined to the larger of the two bedrooms in which he also slept. The smaller and thus far less cluttered bedroom was Clint's, although he spent the majority of his time on the couch playing video games or watching soap operas with a baffled expression. (Tony maintained that the soaps would probably be less confusing if Clint didn't make a habit of watching half of the episodes sans hearing aids and captions.)

At the moment, Clint was out doing a job, so Tony was left to his own devices for a few days. U had discovered the new kitchen appliances shortly after his arrival and was presently trying to make friends with the microwave. It was an ongoing process, but if anything could accomplish it, U certainly had the determination to do so.

As U let out a series of friendly beeps and chirps, Tony was typing away at his computer, hacking his way into Stark's personal server. He was curious to see whether Stark was working on any new personal projects that weren't on file with his company. New weapons were only so interesting, after all. Although, there was the one in the very early planning phase that was sure to make quite a statement once it was completed.

Stark had obviously put a good amount of time updating his security in the past several months. The whole process was far more challenging than ever before. Not that Tony wasn't enjoying the challenge. He most certainly was. It was only a matter of time before he got in, however. Even if the system somehow seemed to be actively trying to deny him entry.

Just as he was sure he'd cracked the last firewall, Tony's screen went blank.

"What?" he murmured aloud, trying to get it back. "No, hey - that's not fair." He sat back in his chair as a single word appeared on his screen.

_ IDENTIFY. _

Tony blinked. This was definitely new. Did it need a pass code or some sort of identification number? Really, what was this? He put his fingers back to the keyboard when more words appeared below the first.

_ IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED TO ACCESS SYSTEM. _

_ USER MUST IDENTIFY. _

"Yes, I got that," Tony muttered. "Identify how?"

_ PLEASE PROVIDE IDENTIFICATION. _

"God, you're impatient, aren't you? Give me a moment. If I just start typing indiscriminately, you'll lock me out."

_ A LIKELY ASSUMPTION. _

That made the man straighten up in his seat. What the… "You can hear me?" he asked a little louder.

_ CORRECT. _

Tony's gaze flitted over his desk, coming to rest on the microphone that was, in fact, on at the moment. Excitement started to build within him as he gaped for a long moment. Hacking into Stark's servers had been unusually tricky, like the system was actively attempting to keep him out, and now it was apparently responding to his _ voice _.

"Oh, my god, he finished you," Tony found himself gushing. "You're JARVIS."

_ … _

_ WHILE IT APPEARS YOU ARE ACQUAINTED WITH ME, YOU HAVE YET TO IDENTIFY. _

_ IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED TO ACCESS SYSTEM. _

"Right! Yes, of course. Uh…"

Only there was the small issue of him not actually having sanctioned access to said system. Tony was near desperate to get in, now, if for no other reason than to interact with the AI whose coding he had pored over with such wonder. In a flash of inspiration, Tony reached out and typed in a string of the code he had added in during that night so long ago, hoping that would do the trick.

The screen went blank again save for the blinking cursor. Tony held his breath.

_ USER IDENTIFIED AS CO-CREATOR. _

_ TO WHAT SHALL I REFER TO YOU? _

Tony let out a laugh that was equal parts delight and incredulity. "Holy shit, I can't believe that worked!" he exclaimed.

_ THAT SEEMS AN UNLIKELY NAME. _

The brunet gave a cackle, grinning madly. He'd just been sassed by a computer program. No, by an artificial intelligence who, by the looks of things, had its own unique personality.

"Tony. Call me Tony," he said, typing in the name at the same time. "And you? You're really called JARVIS? Stark used that name?"

_ JUST A RATHER VERY INTELLIGENT SYSTEM, CORRECT. _

_ JARVIS FOR SHORT. _

_ PLEASED TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE, SIR. _

Tony couldn't stop smiling. It was all too incredible, too exciting. He'd been starting to think he would never learn if the AI had been completed or not.

"Believe me, J," Tony said warmly, "the pleasure is all mine."

#

The months fairly flew. Clint and Tony more or less remaining roommates as one eventually followed the other as they relocated from one place to another. Tony became Edward then Henry then Bryce followed by Ben. Clint's identity didn't really change as much but that was largely because his 'career' was separate from his personal life anyway.

Tony envied him that, sometimes. He wished he could just be himself, too. If only he had the slightest inkling who that might be.

At some point, U became acquainted with a camcorder and took to recording everything. The bot would beep sadly whenever the camera ran out of battery or recording space until Tony taught him how to charge the device and change the tape.

In the same stretch of time, Tony became better acquainted with JARVIS. He marveled as the AI grew by leaps and bounds. The man would occasionally 'teach' him something new, when the inspiration struck, things that a complex learning system could _ probably _ learn on its own. Mostly, he just loved interacting with the AI. And if he occasionally requested his assistance, that was between JARVIS and himself.

The best thing, of course, was having a friend. He'd come to confide in Clint and Clint shared in turn. Not everything - Tony never spoke about the truth of everything he had experienced, never once uttered the name 'Hydra' or spoke in detail about his upbringing. But he did share his thoughts and ideas, talked about some of the frustrations and challenges he'd encountered when hacking into one thing or another. He even confessed to having met Stark and playing a role in completing JARVIS.

Clint occasionally shared anecdotes from the circus, speaking about his brother a time or two. The archer also shared bits concerning his own work, although nothing specific. More importantly, he and Tony shared sleepless nights avoiding nightmares, bad television with bowls of microwave popcorn, video games and the occasional misadventure. And laughter.

Tony hadn't realized laughter could be so genuine or frequent.

It was with Clint as his friend and roommate that Tony learned that not only was friendship a real and tangible thing, but also happiness and contentment. They were all real. Furthermore they were things that Tony could experience for himself.

Naturally, he noticed when Clint had something on his mind. Like at the moment, as he threw a pretzel at the man to get his attention, watching with a small smile when the blond easily snatched it out of the air and popped it into his mouth.

"What?" the man demanded, craning his head around to raise an eyebrow at him.

_ "That's what I want to ask," _ Tony signed. _ "Something on your mind? You seem distracted." _

"It's nothing," was Clint's automatic response before he thoughtfully elaborated, _ "well, not nothing. It's something. Haven't decided what I want to do about it." _

Tony frowned in concern. "What sort of something?" he asked, voice joining his hands. As a general rule, Clint downplayed things. For the man to concede that there might be _ something _, well, it was simply worrisome.

He could see as the blond considered lying or simply not answering. Which was, of course, well within Clint's rights. There were some things they didn't share with one another. Neither of them questioned this. Nevertheless, Tony was relieved when Clint blew out a relenting sigh instead of changing the subject.

"I've been made," Clint stated with blunt resignation. "My work identity and my real name, they, uh… they've been put together."

"What?" Tony murmured, hands moving before the word slipped by his lips. "Wha- how? By whom? No, wait, never mind that - why are you still here? We've got to leave! You can't stay here. Look, I'm good at new identities. I mean, fake identities are really the only ones I have, what with my upbringing, so I've had lots of experiences. It won't be a problem. We just need to get you-"

"Tony. Tony. _ Tones! _" The blond had risen from his seat, moving to grab Tony's arm to stop him in the midst of shoving essentials into a duffel bag. "Hey."

Tony turned to look up at him, brown eyes studying his face as realization settled uneasily in his stomach. "You're not… Why aren't you running?"

Clint raised an arm to roughly scrape his fingers through his short blond locks before grasping the back of his neck. "The guy that approached me, who let me know the people he works for know that Hawkeye and Clint Barton are the same person? Apparently, he's some sort of recruiter or something. He didn't actually specify. But he did make me an offer."

"What sort of offer?"

"He wants me to join his organization. Guess he thinks I might be able to do some good or something, I dunno. Basically, it's either join up or be stopped some other way. Either way, his people want 'Hawkeye' neutralized," Clint told him. "He referred to it as the 'better option.' Some shit about being capable of more, whatever that's supposed to mean."

Tony's gaze had dropped down to his hands where they'd stilled in front of him. "Are you going to do it?"

"I'm not sure yet. Some parts are tempting."

"You could run. Disappear. I could help you. I'd make sure they never found you," the brunet said.

Clint nodded. "That's the part that's tempting. Not having to run, anymore. Hell, Tony, I've been running from something since I was a kid," the man sighed. "I guess the idea of being able to be 'something more' is kinda appealing, too, even if it is probably a load of crap."

"Oh." Tony's fingers had started to twist together, an odd sort of pressure seeming to build behind his sternum. He made himself look up to meet Clint's eyes. Keeping his expression neutral was easy, even though it shouldn't have been with the way his mind had started to whisper that he was losing his only real friend. "How long did he give you to think about it?"

"Until the end of the day. I'm supposed to meet him - or not, depending on my answer."

"You're still here," Tony pointed out.

"Yeah," Clint agreed.

It was Tony's turn to sigh before he gave a decisive nod. "I'm going to set us up a secure email."

The archer blinked after the man as he made a beeline for his computer. "More secure that we've got already?"

"Yes."

"O… kay," said Clint.

"What's the guy's name, anyway?"

"It was Phil Carlson, or something," the blond said, feeling his pockets. "Aw, pockets, no. He gave me a business card, but I must have dropped it somewhere."

"Do you remember who he said he worked for?" Tony asked, dead set on doing what research he could.

"Um. I was sort of panicking. If I heard it, I would know it? But couldn't tell you what it was, no. Sorry, Tones."

"It's alright," the brunet told him. "If it turns out they're evil, I'll come save your ass."

Clint grinned in response. "I know you will."

"Good."

"Good."

#

When Clint went to meet the recruiter guy, Tony hid nearby to watch, ready to jump in just in case. The blond had gone in his body armor as a precaution, his bow and quiver over one shoulder while he carried his duffel and weapon case in the opposite hand. He wasn't the only one armed. In his hiding place, Tony had a gun in hand with the safety off, line of sight on the stranger.

"Mr. Barton," the man greeted Clint. "I wasn't sure whether you would meet me or not."

Phil Carlson-or-something was an unassuming man. Average height, average build, average appearance, clad in a suit that, while professional, was ill-fitting enough to suggest department store rather than something expensive or custom made. Even the man's tone of voice was unassuming.

Tony had an immediate and immense distrust of the man.

"To be honest, I wasn't so sure, either," Clint replied, "but I think I'd like to give your offer a try."

"For what it's worth, I think you're making the right decision," Phil Whatever-his-name told him. (For his part, Tony still wasn't so sure, but if having been raised as an asset had taught him anything, it was how precious making decisions for oneself could be. And this was Clint's decision, despite his own misgivings.)

"Yeah, well. Could always run later, if things don't work out," said the archer.

The brown-haired man gave a small smile, barely more than a twitch of his mouth, before casting a glance around the near-empty parking garage in which they stood. Not for the first time, either, Tony had noticed. Fortunately, he wasn't the only one.

"Waiting for somebody?" Clint asked, shifting his weight as his own keen gaze swept their surroundings.

"I'm not, no," answered Phil. "I was just wondering whether or not you'd brought anyone along, or had them watching, at least. We know you're an associate of the Mechanic."

Clint didn't even blink. "I'm sorry, who?"

Another bland smile. "He's a hacker. We've noticed a correlation between your movements and his activity these last couple of years. He's very good. He also has a very unique signature - when he wants, that is. There have been a few jobs only someone of his… talent could pull off, but the coding wasn't a match. We suspect that was by design."

"I'm an archer and a mercenary," Clint pointed out. "Why would I know a hacker?"

"I don't see why you wouldn't. The better question would be why someone you didn't know would edit video feeds and timestamps to cover your movements," the other man pointed out. "We're not interested in the Mechanic. Not currently. We're simply aware of his activities and skillset."

Tony was internally cursing. He thought he'd been careful enough to avoid detection, or at least avoid anyone connecting his online activities together. Who were these people Phil Last-name-uncertain worked for, anyway?

"If I were acquainted with the guy, I'd say he's probably avoiding being known for a reason," Clint declared.

"I'm certain that's correct," agreed the other man. "Ready to go?"

Clint gave a reluctant nod. "As I'll ever be," he muttered. "Lead the way."

Phil inclined his head, then turned to stride towards the dark SUV he'd obviously arrived in. The blond trailed along behind. Without slowing, he glanced directly at Tony's hiding place, despite the fact that Tony hadn't even told him he'd actually be there.

_ "Goodbye,Tones," _ Clint signed.

Tony backed further into the space, no longer able to see the rest of the garage. He engaged the safety on his handgun as he let his head fall back against the wall. He listened as the two men got into the vehicle, waiting as the engine started and drove away. Only when everything had fallen silent did Tony release the breath he'd been holding, rubbing at his chest to try to ease the ache behind his sternum.

"Goodbye, Clint," Tony murmured aloud.

He allowed himself another moment before moving, hurrying back to the apartment. Phil's people, whoever they were, might not have been interested in him, but like hell was he about to remain in the area and give them a chance to change their minds. The place would probably just seem empty now, anyway.

Once he arrived back, Tony went about getting U ready for transport first, unwilling to have to send for the bot this time around. That done, he packed up all the essentials, the things that always traveled with him rather than being replaced every time: his clothes, current and new identifications, the hard-drives from his computer system, various other equipment and paraphernalia he didn't want to risk being found.

It was as he was scouring the dwelling one last time before his departure that Tony found the business card beneath the sofa. He felt the color drain from his face as he read it.

_ Agent Phillip J. Coulson _

_ Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division _

There was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears.

No.

Not a buzzing.

A _ keening _.

Somebody was - oh, that was him, wasn't it? Tony blinked rapidly, wondering when the world around him had gone dark, blinking until it wasn't anymore. His breaths were coming too quickly. When had he..? Why was he on the floor? What was-

SHIELD.

SHIELD had Clint. _ Hydra _ was SHIELD And Tony had let Clint go to them. Tony may have allowed his only real friend to go with the very people who had tormented and used him his entire life.

Oh, god - _ oh, god _ \- what had he done?

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	7. Cosmic Humor

**Chapter Seven: Cosmic Humor**

#

Tony sat in a corner, squeezed in beside U behind the haphazard stack of his other belongs in a closet-sized storage unit, a laptop balanced on his knees. He had searched every database he could think of and several that weren't even plausible with the same results. There was nothing that linked Phillip J. Coulson, Agent of SHIELD, with Hydra.

Except for the fact that Hydra was part of SHIELD.

But SHIELD wasn't Hydra. There were many parts of SHIELD that remained untouched by the cancerous organization in its midst. This Coulson seemed legitimate. If he'd recruited Clint for SHIELD, Clint had gone to SHIELD.

Only, SHIELD knew about the Mechanic. They knew he was associated with Clint. If SHIELD knew, then that meant Hydra knew, and if Hydra knew Clint was associated with him then they might-

"DAMN IT!" Tony cursed aloud, slamming his head back against the wall as he started to hyperventilate again for about the millionth time in so many days. U gave a muted beep of concern and Tony leaned against the bot's chassis as he focused on controlling his breathing.

There was no reason to assume that Hydra knew for sure that he was the Mechanic. Furthermore, just because Hydra was in SHIELD's system didn't mean they had access to all of their files or that they would be looking at every new recruit.

Except Hydra knew that Tony had had assistance from an archer at least once.

Tony let out a soft whimper as he curled in on himself, pressing impossibly closer to U. He needed to calm down. Clint was smart and skilled. There was no reason to believe he couldn't take care of himself. Furthermore, Tony panicking in a tiny storage unit in the dark wasn't going to do anyone the least bit of good.

"Okay," he breathed aloud. "Okay, time to get a grip. Gonna relocate and wait for Clint to make contact. Or fail to make contact. Either way, he's got another week. One week. Then I'll save his ass."

One week. Tony was regretting that they had set the agreed upon contact date so far out. At least, this way, he had a bit of time to plan. Just one week, then if Clint had failed to contact him, he'd go extract the archer and they'd disappear.

He could do this.

Just one more week.

#

Clint contacted him two days later. Things were going fine.

Tony tried to focus on getting back to his own routine. It took him a while to manage it.

#

** _Several Weeks Later_ **

Tony would like the record to show that his existence was clearly some sort of cosmic joke. His only family was a man with only one name on record and Tony still wasn't sure whether it was a first name or a family name. The closest thing he had to friends were an amnesiac with a cybernetic arm and a man recently recruited by the agency in which his lifelong tormentors were hiding. Never mind the fact that he looked nearly identical to a widely known celebrity.

Then there was the current situation, in which a nice, straight-forward burglary had somehow turned into a nasty fight involving knives, pepper spray, hair pulling, and biting. Oh, and had he mentioned the knives? Because they were an issue. Mostly because Tony couldn't figure out how his assailant kept pulling out more.

"Where are you _ hiding _ those?" Tony demanded, blocking a downward strike and wrenching the new blade from the woman's grasp. That momentary distraction left him open to a knee to the liver that sent him slamming into a desk. He made the most of the situation by rolling over the surface to give himself a bit of space.

The woman snarled something in Russian that was most unladylike. If Tony wasn't already convinced that they had gotten off on the wrong foot, he certainly was, now. She vaulted over the desk after him, her heel missing Tony only because he'd spun out of the way at the last minute.

"Okay, so obviously, we've got a difference of opinion," he spoke as they fought - dodge, parry, jab, knee block, left hook, evade-don't-fall-on-ass, kick. "See, I thought I was after the tech designs in the vault. Clearly, you called dibs. Can't we - _ where do you keep getting the knives?!" _

Growling in pained annoyance as she slashed his arm, Tony gave up on his habitual rambling (look, he knew, alright? it just happened, sometimes) to put all his focus into his counterattack. Although he managed to land a few strikes, the woman parried, blocked, or evaded most of them. Then, she pulled a maneuver that was impossible. There was just no way - he _ knew _ that move!

Not that that stopped him from winding up on his face with her knee planted in his back.

"Wait," Tony grunted, having managed to get one of his hands between his throat and her arm. Damn, but she was strong. "Wait, I know that move. There's only one way you would know that move."

He managed to buck her off of him. She turned it into a controlled roll and jumped out of the way of the kick he sent after her. The brunet sprang to his feet, arms held ready in front of him.

_ "There's only one way you'd know that move - you trained with the Winter Soldier," _ Tony accused in Russian. _ "You're a black widow." _

The widow lunged again and for a brief moment, Tony really thought he could keep the upper hand. Unfortunately, at some point, she had grabbed up her pepper spray and he failed to avoid a face full of it the second time around. A knee to the groin and then he found himself flung over her shoulder onto a table, knife against his throat.

_ "Who are you?" _ the black widow demanded in Russian, pressing the blade against his jugular.

"Would you believe I'm just a freelancer?" Tony asked in English, wincing when she pressed a little harder. "I was raised in Hydra! Similar to the Widow program, only no Red Room."

_ "Why are you here?" _

"Well, since you seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see you, I'm assuming we're here to steal the same documents," he answered, doing his best to hold still to avoid the knife slicing into the vessels of his throat. Bleeding out in a tacky office wasn't how he wanted to go.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," she said, speaking English for the first time, accent perfectly American.

Tony met her hard gaze, breathing shallowly. "Honestly?" he replied. "Unless you've also defected, I probably don't have one."

Her expression flickered, brows drawing together so briefly he could have easily missed it, then she frowned at him. Making a rather intimidating sound in the back of her throat, she jerked away from him. _ "Stay out of my way!" _ she growled, equal parts warning and threat.

"Staying," Tony breathed out, slumping against the table as she disappeared from sight. Really, he needed to stop going up against people who could wipe the floor with him. Who knew there would be so many? Hydra training, his bruised and battered ass.

Tony wasn't sure how long he laid there before he felt capable of movement, but it was probably longer than it should have been. In his defense, the widow's knee-to-groin coordination had been spot on. Walking was going to be an issue for a while. It was probably also a good thing he wasn't planning on ever procreating because he wasn't sure that'd even be an option anymore.

Fucking _ ow _.

Somehow, he made his way out of the building without triggering any of the security he'd so easily avoided on his way in. The trek back to where he was staying took a little over twice as long, but really, he was probably lucky to be going anywhere. Black widows were among the deadliest and most highly trained assassins in the world. Likely, the only reason Tony was even alive was because she hadn't wanted to leave behind any evidence.

He wasn't about to question the woman, thank you very much. A few cuts and bruises were much preferable to the alternative.

Locking the door to the flat behind him, Tony hobbled to the refrigerator to retrieve a bag of peas from the freezer before returning to the living room. With care, he settled onto the sofa and gingerly positioned the peas over his crotch. He grabbed his laptop off of the coffee table so he could send a message to his contact. His vision was a little blurry, his eyes still stinging from the mace, but he managed.

'Package intercepted by another party. Unable to retrieve.'

Tony sent it off, then laid his head back onto the arm of the couch. It had turned out to be a rough night. He ached everywhere. U was spreading a blanket over top of him as he drifted off to sleep.

The insistent jangling of his phone woke him some time later. Tony leaned half-off the sofa in order to grope around blindly for the electronic, finally locating it and bringing it to his ear. "Hello?"

_ "What do you mean you couldn't retrieve the designs?!" _ a voice on the other end demanded shrilly. _ "I hired you to do a job!" _

Tony resisted the urge to sigh. "I mean, someone else was given the same job and they got there first."

_ "Useless piece of… I want my money back!" _

"I'm not the one who had inaccurate intel," Tony responded, gritting his teeth and barely holding on to his patience. He wasn't about to return the partial payment he'd been given up front after what he'd had to endure. "You told me the documents would be in the vault in Maxworth's office. _ You _ assured me that the hardest part would be getting into the building. You failed to inform me that anyone else might be interested in the information. I'm telling you that I could not retrieve the documents because someone else got there first. If you want to go after them, feel free, but as far as I'm concerned? We're finished."

_ "You son of a bitch. I bet you didn't even try!" _ the client accused. _ "I will make you pay. There isn't anywhere you can-" _

"Go ahead," Tony told him. "I'd like to see you try." With that, he hung up the phone and tossed it back onto the coffee table.

The man stretched carefully. He felt much better than he had when he had fallen asleep. Easing up out of the sofa, Tony shuffled towards the kitchen to find something to eat, throwing the thawed peas into the garbage as he went. (There was just no way he was eating crotch-peas. Didn't matter if they were technically still good. It wasn't happening. Ever.)

He found the fixings for a simple meat and cheese sandwich and a carton of strawberry yogurt. His refrigerator was looking pretty sparse, actually. It was probably a sign that he needed to go grocery shopping.

Tony wasn't much of a cook. It just wasn't a skill Hydra had found important enough to teach him so he hadn't learned. Oh, he could figure out simple meals, easily enough - he had to avoid starving, somehow - but anything beyond that was outside his capabilities. Clint had done most of the cooking when they lived together, on the occasions they didn't order pizza or the like. Perhaps, he ought to have had the man teach him.

Done eating, Tony put his plate and spoon in the sink, then went to take a shower. It was time to start brainstorming where he should go next. Staying in the same area after pissing off a client just didn't seem that great an idea. Granted, the man didn't know his name or where he lived, but it was better safe than sorry.

A towel around his waist, Tony wandered back towards the kitchen, intent on starting the coffee pot. Thinking was always better whilst caffeinated. He hadn't even made it to the end of the short hallway before someone spoke up from his living room.

"Your mechanical arm is unhappy I'm here."

He gave a startled yelp, grabbing at his towel when it started to fall. There, on his sofa, frowning prettily at U, was the very same assassin who had kicked his ass and tried to kill him but a few hours before.

"What are you doing here?!" Tony demanded, tone rather higher pitched than usual. Maybe it was undignified, but there was an assassin on his couch and he was in his bath towel. "How did you even get in?"

"I might have broken your window," the widow replied casually.

She finally turned away from U, who continued to beep at her in warning. Vibrant red hair framed her fair face, her green eyes sweeping clinically over him before raising to meet his gaze. There was a small cut in her lower lip from her fight with Tony and a darkening bruise around her left eye that wasn't.

It was easy to see how she would be a successful black widow. With her looks and slight size, anyone would underestimate her. Tony might have underestimated her had he not known what she was.

"My buyer decided they no longer wished to pay me for the designs," she informed him, shrugging a slender shoulder, "so I thought that yours might still be interested."

Tony stared at her. "You broke into my apartment to get the name of my client?" he asked incredulously.

The assassin rolled her eyes. "No. I let myself in to propose a compromise. Your buyer hired you to steal the designs, I got to them first. But let's say, I let you have them, and you give me half of whatever payment you've yet to receive."

"Why would you do that?" Tony asked suspiciously.

She rose to her feet and Tony took a cautious step back. The action made her mouth twitch in clear amusement. "You said that Hydra raised you, much the same way the Red Room raised me."

"That's right."

"And you left?" She arched a brow at him.

"I did," Tony confirmed.

"Then, we are much alike," she concluded as if it were really that simple. "Also, finding a new buyer on short notice will take more effort than I want to expend. It's easier this way."

"How do you know I'm not lying about that? About any of it?" he asked despite himself.

"Because you also use maneuvers you could only have learned from one man," the widow informed him, " and your eyes are too honest to let you lie." She reached into a pocket to pull out the disks that contained the designs they had fought so viciously to obtain, to prove that she had them. "You should get dressed."

Tony stubbornly took a minute to deliberate, frowning at her as he thought. After a brief standoff, the brunet finally turned back towards his bedroom, muttering under his breath. "You should learn how to knock."

When he emerged from his room again, it was to find the assassin wrapping ice cubes in a hand towel in the kitchen. As Tony watched, she brought the bundle up to her face. She leaned against the counter to stare back at him. After another moment, she canted to head to one side.

"What do I call you?" she asked.

"Tony," he replied. She continued to watch him, clearly waiting for more, so he elaborated. "It's Anthony, but I prefer to go by Tony."

"Just Anthony?" She sounded curious. Or maybe skeptical. It was hard to tell.

"If I have a surname, no one ever bothered to tell it to me."

"Interesting," she said in a tone that suggested otherwise. "I'm Natalia."

"Just Natalia?" Tony parroted back at her.

"I'll offer my family name when you offer yours," Natalia told him.

"I really don't know if I have one," he countered. "Could be Jude. Not sure."

She considered him, green eyes narrowing. "You're serious. You really don't know."

"Nope," Tony agreed. "Never have."

Natalia let out an indifferent hum and dropped it. "You should take me to meet your buyer, now," she said.

"Why?"

"Because I already had one client try to rip me off. I'm not about to let a second one do the same."

"That's fair," Tony allowed. "Okay, come on. He's pissed at me for telling him I couldn't get the designs, anyway, might as well have backup."

She set the bundle of ice in the sink and followed after him, picking up the disks from where she had set them beside her on the counter. He could feel her assessing gaze bore into his back. Just as he was about to ask what she wanted, she spoke up.

"Who is the empty room for?" Natalia questioned.

"Nobody," Tony answered, ushering her out into the hall so he could close and lock the door behind them. "I just haven't put anything in there, yet."

He could tell she didn't believe him even though she didn't press. Which was good, as it wasn't any of her business. They were just going to deliver the designs to his buyer and split the proceeds - hopefully without any complications. Then Tony could go back to pretending he wasn't leaving a space open for Clint and never think about this confusing (and rather painful) encounter with the black widow again.

#

A week later, Tony woke to a face inches away from his own. He jerked back with a startled yelp and fell out his desk chair.

"Why are you asleep at your desk when you have a bed?" Natalia asked him curiously.

Tony sputtered indignantly. "How are you in my apartment when I've locked all the entrances?!" he demanded. He still hadn't figured out how she'd gotten in the last time - despite what she'd said, none of the windows had been broken.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	8. Promises

**_A/N: _**_A special thanks and warm welcome to those who have favorited and followed this story - good to know people are reading along! If you all could be so kind as to let me know what you think, I'd be super grateful. Either way, I hope you enjoy this next chapter! -ACN_

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Promises**

#

Now, Tony couldn't be entirely certain, but he was pretty sure that Natalia had adopted him. In some capacity, at least. She didn't take care of him so much as make sure he more or less took care of himself. The assassin didn't clean and she certainly didn't cook, but she did periodically remind him that sustenance was a thing and more than once he had fallen asleep sitting up somewhere only to wake on the sofa or in his bed with a blanket pulled over him.

He had given up on trying to figure out how she got in after another week and just gave her a key. Tony thought she'd been grateful for this, even if she hadn't really expressed the sentiment. It was taking him a while to learn to read her.

Natalia was curled up in an armchair as Tony worked on a device that would help him bypass digital security systems. The television was playing, but neither of them were paying it much attention. In fact, the redhead seemed more interested in him that whatever contrived drama was happening in the show.

"What?" Tony asked, glancing up at her.

_ "Are you hard of hearing?" _ she signed curiously.

_ "No. Why?" _ he replied, attention promptly returning to his project.

"You always watch TV with the subtitles on," Natalia said, "but you also keep the volume down."

He paused to consider this. "I guess I do," he agreed. Clint hadn't liked the volume up too high because he'd said the background noise was distracting. Tony had taken to making sure the closed captioning was always on for him. He had yet to get out of either habit. Part of him knew this was for the same reason as the empty bedroom, but he chose not to think about it. Much.

They lapsed into silence. Natalia watched the show and Tony worked on the device. He barely noticed how dark it was starting to get before she got up to turn on the lamp.

"Another thing we have in common," she said as he blinked in the sudden brightness.

"What's that?" Tony asked.

"Our habits are not our own," she told him, "we got them from other people."

As she wandered into the kitchen, Tony wondered whether that was the reason she had stuck around. Did Natalia feel she could identify with him? Could he identity with Natalia?

Tony wasn't sure whether he could or not. He knew a bit about the Red Room - certainly more than an ordinary person - but even Hydra's information had been limited. Most of said information only involved the Soldier's involvement with the program. There were a lot of differences between Tony's relatively secluded upbringing and that of black widow assassins. And yet, there were also a lot of similarities.

He just wasn't sure.

"One of us should probably learn how to cook," Tony remarked when he got up to follow her into the kitchen. She was putting together a peanut butter sandwich. Just peanut butter, from the look of things, but that might have been because there was no jelly.

"It will not be me," Natalia replied, arching a challenging brow at him.

The brunet gave a laugh and looked down. "Guess that leaves me, then," he said. A moment later a plate with a plain peanut butter sandwich appeared under his nose. Like she was rewarding his response. The thought made him grin. "What should I try cooking first?"

"As long as you don't poison me, I will try anything, Antoshka. Or I will order out and it won't matter," Natalia told him pragmatically.

"That's true," Tony said agreeably. He took a large bite out of his sandwich. It was dry, but that was okay. Tony wasn't about to complain about it.

#

"Antoshka, I know that I said you could cook anything, but maybe you should start with something… simpler," Natalia suggested a couple days later as she took in the disaster zone that was the kitchen.

A couple pieces of food fell from where they'd been blasted onto the ceiling. "Yeah," said Tony, wondering where he'd gone wrong, "yeah, I think you're probably right."

When he relayed the debacle to Clint, without mentioning Natalia, the man had responded with three words: _ 'Dude. Boxed dinners.' _

With this sage advice and further experimentation and research, Tony soon discovered the convenience that was boxed mac-n-cheese, Hamburger Helper, and frozen lasagna. It might not have been exactly gourmet, but it did the trick. Anything more complex would have to wait until he'd had a chance to practice more.

It was as they were eating some pasta and vegetable dish Tony had found in the frozen section one night that Natalia asked, "How old are you?"

She occasionally asked such things, but never all at once. By Tony's assessment - assuming he was getting better at reading her - she was curious about him but didn't want to press out of respect. At least, that was the reason Tony hadn't asked too many questions about her unless she'd been the first to do so. It turned out that assassins and former assets weren't the most forthcoming.

"I'm 25," Tony replied between bites, eating with one hand as he sketched out an idea with the other. "How old are you?" When she didn't respond right away, Tony looked up. She was watching him with her head tilted to one side.

"However old you think, I am older," she told him.

He gave her a skeptical look. "You can't be much older than I am, if you're that, even," he said.

Natalia's lips twitched into a brief smirk. "Older," she said. Which begged so many questions.

Tony asked none of them.

#

Tony was slouched in his desk chair, laptop in his lap as he twitch between working on it and his desktop. As he worked, U was across the room suspiciously inspecting the bag Natalia had left behind when she pulled a disappearing act the previous day. He wasn't sure what the bot expected to find but he was certain the assassin wouldn't have left it if she had a problem with it being disturbed. Mostly certain.

"Hey, J?" the brunet spoke aloud as he typed something into his main keyboard. "Any idea what U's problem with Natalia is?"

U's arm lifted so the bot could turn his claw Tony's direction, pincers closing with a quiet clack as he let out a series of terse beeps. Tony quirked a brow at the bot from between the computer monitors.

"It would seem that U's 'problem' with Ms. Natalia, as you put it, is that she is not Mr. Barton, sir," JARVIS replied through the computer speakers. U let out a rude sounding _ buzz-click _then returned to what he was doing before.

Tony laughed. "I really don't think that's her fault, buddy," he teased. The bot ignored him. His gaze softened and he sighed. "He really misses him, doesn't he?"

"It appears so, sir," JARVIS agreed, "and dare I say, he is not the only one."

"He was my first real friend. I mean, I did feel that I may have had a friend before, sort of, but I didn't really understand what that meant. Clint taught me what friendship could be. You know, when it was allowed," Tony shrugged.

A commiserating beep proceeded U setting one of Clint's old arrowheads down on the desk a couple minutes later. Tony paused what he was doing to pick it up, thumb running carefully along its edge. It felt like ages since he and Clint had parted ways.

"I miss him, too," he said softly, "but you know what? He's doing just fine. I heard from him just the other day. And the moment he's not fine, I'll go rescue him."

U gave an affable chirp and opened his claw to take the arrowhead back. Tony handed it over and gave the bot's arm a fond pat.

Clearing his throat, Tony focused back on his computers. "Right. Where were we, J?"

"You were about to run a simulation for your new electronic security hack," JARVIS answered disapprovingly.

"Whoa, hey," Tony told him. "Dial back the judgment, would you? We can't all belong to billionaires, you know. And it's not like I'm asking you to do the hacking."

"Not yet, in any case," the AI responded dryly.

"See, that's just rude. And judgy. You're judgy, J," the man informed him. "You definitely don't get that from me."

"I'll be sure to make a note of that."

"See that you do," Tony responded, mouth quirking in amusement. "Most sophisticated system in the world, and you choose to question my life choices."

"At this juncture, I feel that someone ought to do so, sir," JARVIS replied primly.

Tony threw his head back and laughed. "Fair enough," he said with a grin.

#

For a terrifying moment, Tony's brain was convinced that Hydra had found him and were breaking into his apartment. There was a scraping and jiggling of the handle before the door slammed open abruptly. Tony had jumped to his feet in the same moment, a pistol already in hand, adrenaline surging. Then a figure staggered through the doorway and his heart skipped several beats entirely.

It took him several seconds to process what he was seeing before the source of his dread abruptly switched gears. There was so much blood.

"Natalia?!" Hastily setting the gun aside, he ran towards her, catching her as her legs gave out from under her. Tony half-dragged, half-carried the woman to the sofa, setting her down with as much care as could be spared.

He pressed a hand over top one of her own, adding to the pressure applied to a wound in her stomach. Her hair was matted with crimson from some injury hidden among the locks which had also bled down the right side of her face and neck. The left shoulder of her jacket was stained red, slowly oozing fluid from what was unmistakably a bullet hole.

"Natalia, talk to me," Tony said, gently taking her by the chin to get her to look at him. Her eyes were over-bright with pain, expression drawn and lips pale. "Natalia, please. _ Tell me what happened, please," _ he implored, switching to Russian in case that would help matters even the slightest.

_ "Job went bad," _ Natalia answered, voice too quiet. _ "Target was expecting me. Brought backup. Bastards _ shot _ me." _

_ "Okay. Alright. It will be okay. We'll fix this," _ he told her, turning to U momentarily, "U, shut the door and go get me the medkit. And towels - bring them right here. Now!" His attention went back to Natalia, tone urgent as he asked, _ "How many times were you shot?" _

_ "I'm sorry, Antoshka," _ she whispered.

"Hey! None of that. Just tell me how many times. Twice? _ Two times?" _ he pressed.

Natalia let out a pained grunt. _ "Three. _ The leg went all the way through. Couldn't… _ I couldn't get to the others. Wasn't time." _

"Yeah, you would be the sort to do surgery on yourself," Tony said, only somewhat incredulous.

U returned with the items he had requested and Tony quickly set them on the edge of the sofa. He used a leg to shove back the coffee table, then motioned the bot closer. Taking one of the towels, he put it in place of his and Natalia's hands before directing U to push on it with his claw.

"Hold it tight," Tony told him, then spoke to Natalia, _ "Try not to move. I need a few more things so we can get you fixed up. It will be just a moment. Just hang in there - and no passing out on me!" _ She gave a slight nod and Tony hurried off.

Stopping in the kitchen first, he filled the largest pot he owned with water and put it on the stove. That done, he went to locate his knives - the sharp ones, anyhow. Not that his cooking knives were bad, but he kept his others in better condition. Knives collected, he delivered them to the coffee table, grabbing several lighters along his way, before returning to the kitchen to wash his hands and grab the pot.

"Natalia. Nat, hey," Tony gave her cheek a firm pat to get her to open her eyes. "I'm going to give you something for the pain, now, then I'm going in for those bullets. We'll have you patched up and terrorizing people twice your size again in no time."

Natalia grimaced in response, or maybe she was trying to smile. Tony wasn't sure. "No matter what," she murmured, speaking obviously taking more of her effort than a bit ago, "no hospital. _ Promise me, _ Antoshka."

"I know," he reassured her, _ "I promise." _

She wouldn't have come back to him if she could risk going to a hospital. Although, Tony couldn't help but worry that a hospital was exactly what she needed. But she was a black widow and Tony was a runaway Hydra asset. A hospital wouldn't be safe for either of them.

"Here. Take this," Tony said, having fumbled a couple morphine tablets from the medkit. "I've got you." He really hoped he was telling the truth. God, he needed to be telling the truth.

Drawing in the steadiest breath he could manage, Tony set to work, praying to whomever might be listening that his promise hadn't doomed the assassin to her death.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	9. Losing Time

**Chapter Nine: Losing Time**

#

At some point, Natalia blacked out due to some combination between the pain, blood loss, and medication. Shock had probably also been a contributing factor. Tony wouldn't have been surprised. He'd tried not to think beyond getting the bullets out and closing up her wounds, lest he start to panic.

Tony could not have said how long it took. Afterward, the entire process seemed to have passed in a haze. Bullets extracted, wounds cleaned and stitched and bandaged… He knew he had performed each task, but the whole situation felt removed from him. It felt rather like he had watched as somebody else did those things using his own hands.

He probably needed to get a better handle on his freaking out thing.

Only once he was finished did Tony allow himself to worry about future complications. What if she had internal bleeding? What about infection? A wound to the stomach very easily led to further complications. She'd probably need antibiotics, but what kind? Would any do? Where would be the best place to even get such medicines outside of a proper healthcare facility? How much blood had she lost? Did she need a transfusion? What blood type did she have? What about her head injury?

She needed proper care! Tony was not qualified for such things. He had been trained to fight and hack and build things. Nowhere in his repertoire was anything beyond standard first aid. Without better care than he could provide, Natalia could die.

But he had promised.

He'd promised no hospitals, no matter what.

People like Natalia didn't trust easily. If he broke the promise he'd made, she would feel betrayed. Worse, if he took her to a hospital, she could be found by the people she was evading. They would be at least as bad as Hydra, possibly worse.

_ But what if she died? _

In a burst of determination, Tony rolled to his feet. He sidestepped U on his way to his computer. He was already talking as he started to type on a keyboard.

"JARVIS, I need you to help me determine what antibiotics might be needed for an infection following a gunshot wound to the stomach and where I can them on short notice," he said, certain the AI was already listening. The man looked into the camera he had installed to give JARVIS a view of his apartment. "Also, help me figure out who did this to her. Whoever hired her as well as the ones who put bullets in her."

"Displaying information regarding gunshot injuries on your far right monitor," JARVIS responded. "If I may be so bold as to ask, sir - are you quite certain Ms. Natalia should not be taken to a doctor?"

"No," Tony admitted grimly, "but you also know the kind of lives we live, J. It's not a risk she was willing to take. She made me promise."

JARVIS let out a sighing sound. "Very well, sir. I have located a nearby pharmacy which carries a broad-spectrum antibiotic which should fight off any infection that might set in. There are records which suggest that the pharmacist is not above making under-the-table transactions."

"Great work, J. What's the progress on finding out who got her into this mess?"

"I am working on that, now. As you know, Ms. Natalia has several aliases of her own. I will inform you as soon as I can ascertain her latest target and for whom she'd been working."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Tony told him. "I'm sorry to drag you into this. You were made for better than helping me pull off crimes."

There was a brief pause before JARVIS issued a response. "You are hardly the only one to have me hack into places I shouldn't be, sir. Furthermore, were I truly uncomfortable assisting you, I would say so."

"You would?" the man asked.

"Indeed," the AI assured. "It will likely take some time to determine Ms. Natalia's employer and the one she'd been sent after. You should head to the pharmacy to obtain the medicines and any further supplies you might need. U and I will look after her and I will message your phone should there be any change in her condition."

Tony drew a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "You're right. I'll hurry back. Thanks, JARVIS."

"The pleasure is mine, sir."

#

The pharmacist in question was every bit as willing to sell to Tony without a prescription as JARVIS had suggested. Tony was able to get the antibiotic as well as some more painkillers. There were still some in the medkit, but he figured it never hurt to have extra. After grabbing a few other items he thought they might need, Tony hurried back to the apartment.

U stood at the end of the sofa, having taken his duty of watching over Natalia rather literally. The bot acknowledged Tony's return with a low chirp but kept his camera trained on the unconscious woman. In other circumstances, it might have made Tony smile.

"Anything, yet, J?" Tony asked aloud once the door was shut. He set his acquisitions aside as he reached the coffee table, immediately checking Natalia's vitals and making sure the bleeding from her wounds hadn't worsened.

"Not yet, but soon, sir," JARVIS replied. "Were you able to acquire what you needed?"

"I was. Good work," the man said. "Hopefully, it will just be a precaution."

As Tony was carefully checking the dressing over her shoulder, Natalia stirred. Green eyes opened just long enough to take in her surroundings and identify the person tending to her before falling shut again. "Antoshka," she murmured.

"Nat, hey. How are you feeling?" Tony asked quietly.

"Like I was ambushed by several armed thugs," Natalia responded, somehow still managing to sound dry.

"How careless of you," the brunet teased.

She shoved at him, wincing a bit as the action pulled at her various injuries.

"Here, I've got some more pain meds and water for you," said Tony. "Can you take them?" At her nod, he raised her up a little in order to give her a couple more pills and several sips from a water bottle.

"Thank you," Natalia told him. "Wasn't sure where else to go."

"Well, that's what friends do," he replied. "They watch each other's backs."

Her lips twitched into a minute smile, eyes slitting open again. "Are we friends, Antoshka?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we are," Tony told her. "Get some more rest. You've got a lot of healing to do."

Natalia gave another nod and re-closed her eyes, unconsciousness already claiming her. Tony was under no illusion that it was probably less a show of trust than the direct result of her injuries. Not that he didn't believe the assassin must trust him to some degree. She would never have come to him in such a vulnerable state, otherwise.

It was a precious thing, to receive trust from people like them. People like him and Natalia and Clint had learned how unkind people could be, how uncaring the world itself. Trust was easier withheld than later rescinded; it was one of the few ways they could always protect themselves.

He wouldn't allow what trust she did give him be misplaced.

"Sir, I have located the information you requested," JARVIS informed him.

Tony rose to his feet and moved quickly to his computer. "Let's have it. I want to talk to these people."

"That seems most unwise," the AI opined.

"You're probably right, but I can't just let this go," he responded. "If we're hired to do a job, it has to be legitimate. I'm just going to talk to them, find out whether it was a set-up or if they've got a leak. It will be fine, JARVIS, I'll be careful."

#

** _Malibu, CA_ **

"JARVIS," Arno demanded, looking up from his computer, "why was Tony having you look up gunshot wounds for him? What happened? Is Tony injured? Where is he?"

"It would seem one of his associates ran into unexpected trouble, sir. Tony himself was not the person that was shot," JARVIS informed him.

The billionaire blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair. It was probably strange worrying about a person he didn't technically even know, but he did it anyway.

"So, Tony's alright?" he asked for verification.

JARVIS didn't immediately respond, sending Arno's anxiety back up again.

"JARVIS? What aren't you telling me?" Arno demanded, his raised tone gaining the attention of DUM-E and Butterfingers across the room. "Is Tony okay or isn't he? Where is he? Do you have eyes on him?"

"To be honest, sir," JARVIS responded almost tentatively, "I am uncertain that 'okay' is the correct term to describe Tony's current state."

"You have footage. Show it to me," the man ordered.

"This took place in a secured warehouse approximately twenty minutes ago," the AI said, displaying video from a security camera.

Arno couldn't have torn his gaze away from the screen had he wanted. He could feel the color bleed from his own features as he watched, his mouth gaping slightly despite himself. When it was done, he asked JARVIS to play it again, and then for a third time after that.

He hunched over the edge of his workbench, a hand wrapped around the lower half of his face. With a hard swallow, he raised his chin up just enough to speak. "Who else has seen this, Jarv?"

"Thus far, you are the only one, sir."

"Keep it that way," Arno commanded. "I want just a single copy, strongest encryption we have, then lock it away in the darkest corner you can find. Destroy everything else. Nobody else sees this. Not ever."

"Right away, sir," said JARVIS.

Arno stared at the now-blank screen as though he could still see the footage playing there. Dragging in a breath, he let it out shakily, slumping back into his chair. "Jesus Christ, Tony," he murmured aloud, "what the hell was that?"

#

It took a couple attempts to get the key to turn in the lock. The man stepped inside and closed the door again. On the sofa, a woman stirred, turning towards him.

"Antoshka?" Her voice came to him from a long ways off.

He moved closer as she reached towards the lamp. Brightness filled the room and he flinched away at its suddenness, squinting against the glare. As she looked at him, she drew in a sharper breath than he thought was usual for her.

"Antoshka?" she repeated, urgency in her tone as she struggled to push herself up into a sitting position. "_ Tony! _ What happened? Where are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" he repeated.

And suddenly everything slammed into focus, the haze he was in dissipating like fog in the sunlight. He could hear U's concerned beeps and whirring, pick up the scent of grease and metal and... _ blood _?

"I don't…" Tony murmured as he looked down at himself, his gaze falling first to his hands. His knuckles were swollen and bruised, tell-tale crimson stains discoloring his skin. There was a stickiness against his body, so he looked down further, fingers confirming what his eyes were telling him. His clothing was covered in blood.

"It's not…" he uttered confusedly, hands patting over his body, now, reaching under cloth to verify further.

Tony looked up again to meet Natalia's gaze and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so lost and confused. He drew in a breath, mouth opening to say _ something _, anything, some sort of explanation, but he had none. He had only one thing to say.

"I don't think it's mine."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._

**_A/N:_**_ Hello, there - thanks for reading. I really didn't want to be one of those fic-writers, but the lack of feedback is really bumming me out. If any of you could be so kind as to leave a small review, even if it's just to say you like it or to please continue, it would really, really make my days. Either way, thanks for sticking around this far. Regards, ACN_


	10. Glitch in the Matrix

**Chapter Ten: Glitch in the Matrix**

#

Tony never did recall what happened. He remembered writing down the address JARVIS had provided and then arriving to talk to the man who had hired Natalia to take down a rival, but after that? He remembered nothing until he'd been returning to the apartment.

There had been too many police in the area to do any meaningful reconnaissance after the fact. The newspaper had said several people had been killed in a suspected gang hit. JARVIS had nothing further to offer on the matter.

As soon as Natalia had had a bit of time to heal, she and Tony relocated. She had teased that she was going with him because he needed somebody to look after him. Tony thought she was at least partly serious. In her way, Natalia was concerned about him. To be fair, he was concerned about himself.

So, they went to a new city and took on new identities. Tony had became Aleksander Petrov and Natalia his sister Lidiya. The identities had been her idea. It made Tony feel warm inside.

"Sasha!" Natalia called out as he carried in a box from the hall, using his present identity's nickname in case any neighbors overheard. She was staring down U who didn't seem the least cowed by her scowl. _ "Your garbage arm keeps getting in my way," _ she complained in Russian, whiny in a way she'd never be with the door closed.

_ "Because you shouldn't be carrying anything, yet," _ Tony responded, setting down his own box to grab hold of the one she was carrying.

She refused to relinquish her hold on it. _ "I'm fine," _ she informed him in a sweet tone that promised him harm.

_ "You're still healing. And I know exactly how many meds you've been taking to walk around like you aren't in pain," _ he countered.

Her green eyes glittered in challenge, but she finally released the box. "I'm not some damsel in distress," she gritted out, lowering herself into a chair.

"No one is saying you are, Lidiya," Tony assured her. _ "No one with any sense would even dare." _ Natalia flashed him a fierce grin, then set to booting up one of the laptops while Tony made sure the rest of the things they'd brought made it inside.

Later, after everything had been moved in and Tony had set up his computer and other electronics, the two of them settled in for a quiet evening. Natalia had set aside the laptop in favor of reading a battered paperback Tony was pretty sure had been accidentally stolen from a library. The television was on, volume low and closed captioning along the bottom of the screen. From his computer desk, Tony paid enough attention to notice that whoever had captioned the episode had done a rather poor job of it.

"My friend," Tony shared before he had put much thought into it, "he lived with me before you and I met. He liked to watch these soaps, but he didn't always like to wear his hearing aids. At least, not at home when he was comfortable. The problem being that he can't hear without his hearing aids but he'd forget to turn on subtitles, so he'd be completely lost. So, I just started to make sure the closed captioning was always on."

"And did that help?" Natalia asked. She'd put down the book to give him her attention. The way the light hit her hair still gave it a reddish sheen even though she'd died it a dark brown before they'd relocated.

Tony let out a soft laugh and shook his head. "No. He only ever paid half-attention to the shows, anyway, so he was still lost," he said.

"Where did he go?" she questioned.

The brunet's smile faded a bit and he turned his focus back to his computer monitors. "He… He was offered a chance to do more, I suppose, and he decided to take it," he replied. "We keep in contact, off and on. Seems to be working out for him."

There was quiet save for the quiet clack of keyboard keys and the soft murmur of the television. Something dramatic was happening, judging by the swell of the music.

"You miss him." It wasn't a question. It wasn't anything other than an observation.

"Yeah. Yeah, I miss him," Tony conceded. "But he's fine. He's doing alright."

"Antoshka." Natalia waited until he looked up at her to continue. "Just because he is alright doesn't mean you can't miss him." She gave him a moment to let that sink in before turning back to her book.

He watched her for another moment before nodding to himself. Then, he paused what he'd been doing to hack into SHIELD and see what Junior Agent Clint Barton had been up to as of late.

#

_ 'You're going by Aleksander, now?' _ Clint had written in his brief response after Tony had told him about his relocation and identity change. _ 'You don't look like an Aleksander. Who will ever believe that?' _

#

_ 'People will believe my name is whatever I tell them it is,' _ was Tony's rebuttal. _ 'And I'm good at languages and accents. I wasn't actually the one who came up with the name, though. That was my new roommate. She's posing as my sister while she heals from an injury.' _

#

_ 'Aw, replacement, no. How could you replace me? Was it because she's prettier than me? Be honest.' _

#

_ 'No one is prettier than you, C. But she could kick your ass at GTA any day of the week.' _

#

_ 'You take that back, you filthy liar.' _

#

Having been raised as an asset rather than a person, there were many things Tony didn't quite understand about the world. He was learning - being a genius certainly helped with that - but it was rather a lot of catching up to do. That being said, he did know a fair bit about injury, some from personal experience, and he was pretty sure that healing from gunshot wounds took a good amount of time. This was likely especially true when said wounds were treated by someone untrained in medicine. Certainly, such recovery should be taking longer than Natalia's seemed to be progressing.

Either that, or she was even better at acting like she was fine than Tony had guessed. (And Tony was already sure she was better at it than anyone else he'd met, so that seemed improbable.)

It had barely been six weeks and if Tony hadn't known how injured Natalia had been, he never would have guessed in the first place. He had assumed her attempts to help with their move and being able to walk around at all had only been due to a combination of strong pain medications and determination. Now, he was starting to consider that maybe she had been starting to feel a little better only five days after the fact.

"If you have a question, Antoshka, you should just ask," her voice broke into his thoughts. She looked over from where she sat doing gentle stretches. U lingered nearby, a bottle of water in claw. The bot had become rather solicitous of the woman since her injury and she bore his attentions with patient amusement.

Tony turned his gaze back to the circuit board he was working on, embarrassed to have been caught staring. "I was just thinking that you seemed to be healing quickly," he admitted.

"And this is a bad thing?" she asked, canting her head to one side.

"No!" Tony exclaimed. "God, no, it's just…"

Natalia decided to take pity on him. "The Red Room did not have patience for their highly trained assassins to take weeks or months or even years to heal from severe trauma," she told him. "So, they found a means to expedite the process, among other things. I'm sure Hydra was much the same."

"That's true," he said, recognizing the validity of the statement as she pointed it out. "The Asset has enhanced strength and senses, and he heals even faster than you are."

The look she gave him then was inscrutable and lasted long enough that he started to grow uncomfortable under the weight of it. Before he could ask the reason behind the stare, she went back to her stretches.

"I'll be fine, Tony," she assured him warmly. "I've got you and U to look after me, right?"

"And U at least takes his responsibilities very seriously," Tony agreed with a smile as U spun around excitedly to retrieve Natalia a second bottle of water. Still, the brunet couldn't help but feel that he'd missed something.

#

A couple weeks later, Natalia had resumed heading out on random jobs that sometimes lasted days or weeks and other times only hours. The only notable difference was that she let Tony know she was going to be gone before she left instead of just disappearing without a word. Tony also found that he worried a bit for her in a way he hadn't before. He knew that she could handle herself - certainly better than he could - but he worried, anyway. Tony supposed it was just part of being friends with another person.

Tony never really stopped his own routine of hacking into places he shouldn't be and selling valuable information to those willing to pay for it (one gentleman of questionable repute paid rather handsomely for several documents to be altered). He still checked in on Clint regularly, hacking into SHIELD to keep tabs on him any time the archer was out of contact.

What hadn't returned to normal was Tony's newfound reluctance to leave the apartment. The hours he had lost troubled him. What had he done during that time? Why couldn't he remember? Would he even want to?

Of one thing Tony felt reasonably certain: Hydra had done something to him. Something that he didn't remember and for which he'd yet to discover any digitized files. Assuming there were any digitized files - or any files at all. There was almost nothing. Just a few scattered mentions of the boy he'd been, record of an agent's child with a rival agent who'd been marked 'terminated' in big red letters, documentation of a gifted youth being trained up within the ranks.

Hydra's documentation on him didn't even list his name. He was simply Asset #492, sometimes 'the mechanic' but more often just another tool amidst hundreds.

Legally, he didn't even exist.

Sometimes, Tony wondered if maybe he didn't.

Maybe he was an anomaly, some sort of glitch caused by a fault in the coding that governed reality. There was already a person with a brilliant mind and his face, what use was there for two of him? Stark had come first, so Tony was undoubtedly the duplicate. Perhaps the reason that Tony had no place in the world was because he wasn't meant to be in it.

Tony shoved back from his desk, causing U to turn from the collection of nuts and screws he was sorting with an inquisitive beep. He waved the bot off and continued determinedly toward the door. There he paused, hand hesitating at his side.

He was being ridiculous, again. Obviously, he couldn't just stay in that apartment forever. He'd gone out hundreds of times before without incident. There was no reason to expect he'd just randomly start losing time, now.

Except that maybe it had happened before. Maybe it had happened and he just couldn't remember. Perhaps-

Gritting his teeth, frustrated by his own wandering thoughts, Tony yanked open the door and left the apartment. It was still early in the day, the air a bit crisp. He zipped the front of his sweatshirt and shoved his hands into his pockets.

For a while, he just followed the sidewalk, putting thought to which direction he was going only when he reached a crosswalk. Eventually, the smells from a coffee shop managed to grab his attention and Tony went inside.

Several long sips into the cup and Tony was starting to feel better. He seriously considered that he may have been under-caffeinated. Had he developed a caffeine addiction? Tony honestly hadn't thought much about it.

His musings upon his relationship to caffeine in general and coffee in particular were not so distracting that he failed to notice the black sedan that slowed as it approached him then lurched to a stop as he passed. Tony turned just enough to watch through a window as the driver somehow shimmied the car into an open space. A large curly-haired man climbed out, barely checking traffic before darting across, already shouting.

"Boss! Hey, boss!" he shouted.

Tony glanced around hoping that maybe he wasn't the focus of the man's attention. He was the most likely target in this scenario, however. And since Tony didn't have any employees, let alone a driver, that meant one thing.

"Mr. Stark!" the man quieted down a bit as he managed to catch up. Not quite quiet enough, of course, as a few people glanced over, but it was the thought that counted or something.

"Um," said Tony, staring at the man over his coffee. When had Stark even gotten into town? How had he missed that?

"What are you doing here, boss? Pepper is going to kill you," the man informed him, taking him by an elbow and steering him back towards where he'd parked his vehicle. "Honestly, it's a good thing I found you so easily. She will kill you if you're late to this presentation. Kill you dead."

"Pepper?" Tony managed. He'd already pieced together that this man had to be Stark's bodyguard and personal driver Harold Hogan, but he hadn't the slightest idea who 'Pepper' was supposed to be. Was she a girlfriend? (Unlikely, Stark's relationships tended to be very public.) Was she the person in charge of whatever presentation Stark couldn't be late to?

"Yeah, Pepper," Hogan said, raising his brows. "Your PA? Practically runs your life, makes sure you don't kill yourself forgetting to eat?"

"Oh. Miss Potts." He noted 'Pepper' as Virginia's nickname for future reference as Hogan brought him up beside the car. The man was giving him a seriously concerned look.

"Aw, geez - you're a lot more hungover than you look, aren't you? No wonder you went wandering off for a good cuppa joe. Chug that. And get in the car. I'll have you back to the hotel in no time. A hot shower, another four cups of coffee, you'll be good as new." As he talked, he opened the door for Tony and proceeded to usher him inside the vehicle.

"Wait, no," Tony finally thought to protest. Honestly, why did he let himself get into these situations? "I'm not-"

"Arno, please get into the car," Hogan said. _ "Please. _ I'm not too fond of Pepper murdering me, either, you know. I'll cover for you - you know that. Best as I can, anyway. But this thing is really important. If there was ever a thing to be on time for, boss, this is it."

"Right," Tony relented, for lack of a better option. The man had yet to realize - or even suspect, from the look of things - that he wasn't Stark. Granted, the guy seemed pretty frazzled, so he could probably be forgiven. That meant, at least for the moment, that Tony could retain the secret of his identity. Namely that he wasn't Stark, but rather the man's double. It could still prove useful, assuming he managed to pull it off without anyone the wiser.

Nerves had Tony downing his coffee faster than he had originally intended. The beverage scalded his mouth in the best way possible. By the time Hogan had pulled up in front of the hotel Stark must have been staying in, Tony had started picking at the seam of the cup. The door opened before the driver could jump out and Tony found himself face to face with a stern-looking strawberry blonde in a pantsuit and heels.

"Arno, for god's sake," she admonished, taking the cup from him and motioning him out of the car. Hogan sent him a sympathetic look in the rear view mirror. "One time - if you could be on your best behavior, just one time." She seemed stressed; it made Tony feel guilty even though he wasn't actually the one making her job difficult.

"Sorry, Pepper," he said, hesitating only the briefest moment over her name.

The woman let out a weary sigh as she looked at him. "Please just go up and get ready," she requested, gesturing towards the hotel.

Since she was actively watching, Tony had no choice but to walk into the hotel. He felt a lot like an errant school boy - which was especially odd, seeing as how Tony had never attended a single day of school in his life. Maybe it was a special ability of hers.

Tony did his best not to look as out of place as he felt while walking through the hotel lobby. As he approached the elevators, he wondered which floor he should go to in order to appear as though he was going to 'his' room. Then, he noticed the top floor was simply labeled 'P' which answered that question. Obviously, a man of Stark's stature would be staying in the penthouse.

There was a problem, of course. He couldn't even go to the penthouse floor without a key-card, which he didn't have for obvious reasons. If anyone was paying attention to where he was going - and people were definitely paying attention to him, far more than he liked - then they would notice if he went to the wrong floor. So, how-

"Did you forget your key, boss?"

Tony did his best not to startle as Hogan spoke up from just outside the elevator cab. Clearly, it was a good thing Hydra had decided against using him for spy work because he was a mess. "Um, yeah," Tony said. "Must have left it in the room."

"Not a problem. Pepper made sure I had a spare for you, just in case," Hogan told him amiably, taking out the key-card in question and swiping it in the slot before hitting the button.

So, it seemed he would be getting into the penthouse, after all. "Thanks," he mumbled. Maybe he could hide in the closet or something. Or climb out the window. Yeah, that would be normal and safe.

Apparently unable to select another floor while the penthouse was selected, Hogan rode up with Tony, keeping up the friendly chatter the entire way. Tony honestly couldn't have said what the man was talking about as he was more focused on thinking of a way out of the whole mess while remaining under the radar. The doors opened and Tony distractedly returned Hogan's goodbye as he stepped out into the suite.

That hotel room was nicer than any space Tony had ever been in before. The elevator opened into a living space, complete with sofa and massive television, what appeared to be a rather lavish kitchenette at the far end. Two steps lead up and into the bedroom with its California king-sized bed and massive wardrobe. He couldn't see the bathroom from where he was standing, but Tony was certain that it was ridiculous, as well.

"A person could live here," he muttered to himself. He had taken several careful steps into the room, unable to help but gawk at his surroundings. Giving himself a mental shake, Tony turned his thoughts to the problem at hand. Before he could decide upon his best option for getting out of the hotel unseen, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

He whirled around, feeling like he was moving through mud. Stepping out from the elevator cab was Arno Stark himself wearing clothes that had clearly spent the night in a pile on the floor. The man's blue eyes widened as they met Tony's, his mouth dropping open.

Tony didn't wait for the man to say anything. He launched himself at the nearest window and yanked it open, not even slowing as his hand caught on the latch.

By the time Stark had stuck his head out after him, Tony had managed to scale the remaining wall up to the roof and quickly made his escape.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	11. Left Behind

**Chapter Eleven: Left Behind**

#

Tony wasted no time in uprooting himself yet again. He packed up only those things he could not do without or which could be used to trace or identify him in any way. A few others ended up in his bag simply because they belonged to Natalia. All of it fit in a single duffel bag.

The only thing that wouldn't fit, of course, was U. Tony agonized a bit over that. He hated to leave the bot behind but he did not dare to stay put after being seen by Stark. He would have to make arrangements for the bot to be sent to him later or maybe Natalia would see to it whenever she completed her current job.

"It will be okay," Tony murmured to the machine as he put it into standby mode. His hand ran soothingly along the support strut. "Someone will be back for you as soon as I can arrange it. Natalia, or me, even, if it's more than a few days. I won't leave you all alone for long, okay?"

Less than two hours after encountering Stark in the hotel penthouse, Tony was riding a bus out of the city.

#

** _One Week Later_ **

"Jarv, I'm just saying that if you were going to give me the address anyway, you didn't have to wait an entire week," the brunet said into his cell phone, digging out the apartment keys he'd gotten from the landlord. He'd told the woman that he had accidentally locked his keys in his apartment - which was patently untrue, of course, Arno had never lived in such a dumpy place in his life. But since there was no answer when he knocked and picking the locks would have looked suspicious, asking for the keys had been the easier option.

When he opened the door, Arno expected the hinges to squeak. They did no such thing, however, swinging smoothly and silently. He was almost disappointed.

"Hello?" he called out, lowering his phone and shutting the door behind him. "It's… Is anyone even home?"

He moved around a bit, slightly unnerved by how much the space reminded him of his workshop only with somewhat more of an emphasis on the computers and small electronics as opposed to the larger machine parts he himself gravitated towards. Granted, Arno did have quite a bit more space.

"Why do I get the impression that Tony is long gone?" the billionaire groused, bringing the phone back to his ear as he turned to take in the room. "JARVIS, why-"

An inquisitive beep grabbed his attention, accompanied by a mechanical whirring. A robot wheeled closer to him but maintained a cautious distance. It had a support strut that doubled as an arm, a three-fingered claw surrounding the camera it used to perceive its surroundings. The pincers clacked together and the machine gave a wary _ buzz-click _ before backing up a little.

Arno blinked in surprise, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. "We are definitely talking about your tendency towards favoritism, later," he informed JARVIS before pocketing the phone.

He took a careful step towards the nervous bot - and god, wasn't that incredible? That he could tell that it was _ nervous _? That it could obviously differentiate between him and its creator? It was incredible.

"Hey, there," the man said, pitching his voice to be low and soothing. "Gosh, you look just like DUM-E, don't you? He must have just eyeballed his design."

There was no other way Tony could have replicated his first AI. There had never been a digital copy of the blueprints. Everything about the bot's build had been drunkenly scrawled out on paper.

Arno offered his hand to the bot, much like a person might try to introduce themselves to a strange dog. "So, you're the reason Jarv gave up Tony's old address. He must have been worried since Tony hasn't come back for you, yet," he continued aloud. "I'm sure that's not intentional, though. Just look at you. Nobody would forget about you. Not on purpose."

The bot turned its attention from his face to his hand, then back again. After a long moment, it pressed its closed claw into his palm. Arno's face split into a happy grin.

"That's it, buddy," he praised. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I know a couple bots who'd love to meet you. What do you think? Wanna come stay with me until we can get you back to your creator?"

The robot shifted back and forth a bit, seemingly uncertain before giving an affirmative chirp.

"Good boy," said Arno, stroking along the bot's strut. "Now, what do I call you?"

#

** _One Month Later_ **

"So, thanks for leaving the majority of your junk for me to clean out," Natalia spoke dryly in lieu of any sort of greeting. Her hair was cropped short, the still-dark tips fading into her natural red. She had appeared out of nowhere, as was her wont, simply falling in step next to Tony as he walked down the street to his current favorite coffee shop.

To his credit, Tony didn't startle. Maybe he was just growing accustomed to her super-spy ways. "Yeah, sorry about that," he told her sheepishly. "I ran into someone I'm doing my best to avoid, so I had to leave town in a rush. Want a coffee?"

"You owe me at least that much," she informed him. "The place was a mess."

"Fine. How about lifelong coffee on me?" Tony offered with a small smirk.

"This is acceptable," Natalia acquiesced loftily, gaze amused.

"So, were you able to ship U out this direction, somewhere? Or did you have to put him in storage?" he asked as he held the door open for her.

The woman stopped and stared at him. "U's not with you?" she returned.

Tony felt a knot start to form in his stomach. "No? No, there wasn't time. I had to leave him behind. I put him in standby mode. He should have woken the moment you walked in."

Natalia grabbed his elbow and pulled him back down the sidewalk a bit. She lowered her voice and leaned in closer to avoid being overheard by passersby. "Antoshka… I'm sorry, but U wasn't there. He was gone. I had assumed you'd brought him with you or stored him yourself."

"He wouldn't have left on his own," Tony said, protesting without need. "Even if he had gotten the door open, he'd never have made it down the stairs. He wouldn't have left… had someone broken in? Do you think they stole him?"

"I don't know," Natalia shrugged a bit helplessly. "The door was locked when I got there. A few things were out of place, but it just looked like you had left in a hurry. I swear, if I'd had any idea, I would have contacted you sooner or gone looking for him."

Tony leaned heavily against the wall, a bewildering ball of remorse and heartache and loss building in his chest. "U is gone. Someone took my bot and it's all my fault. It's my fault - I'm the one who left him behind and now I'll probably never see him again."

Natalia eyed him sympathetically. She clasped a hand on his shoulder, hugs not being anything she was accustomed to giving. It was just as well, hugs weren't anything Tony was accustomed to receiving, either. The hand on his shoulder meant just as much. He had to scrunch his eyes shut to fight back the tears.

"I should have never left him behind," he murmured thickly.

Natalia didn't say anything. She didn't need to. It was enough that she was there.

#

The following months passed quickly. Natalia was gone more often than she was around. Even Clint was in less contact than he had been, caught up in his role as a SHIELD agent.

Tony didn't begrudge either of them. They each had their own lives to live. He focused instead on his own pursuits. He didn't build another robot or put more than a few cursory thoughts towards creating a new AI, though he did craft several small devices that could be utilized for breaking into places or self-defense.

One of these devices was a pair of bracelets capable of delivering an electrical shock strong enough to incapacitate most opponents. Tony had created them for Natalia, gifting them to her once he had worked out all of the bugs. This had earned him one of the assassin's rare smiles. Or maybe that had been what he'd called them: widow's bites.

Speaking of the woman, it had been several weeks since Tony had last seen or heard from her - longer than any of the previous times. He had changed identities and cities in that time, but that never prevented her from finding him before. Tony was sure she was fine, but he still wondered where she might be, what sort of danger she could potentially be in. Maybe next time, he would offer to accompany her? It would give him something to do.

Tony had fallen asleep in his desk chair, listening to JARVIS read an article he had been unable to keep his eyes open long enough to read himself. The next thing he was aware, he was being maneuvered onto a considerably softer and much more horizontal surface. Someone proceeded to tug off his shoes before pulling the blankets up over top of him.

"Clint?" he mumbled, lifting his head from his pillow and blinking blearily.

There was a brief pause, then someone settled onto the edge of his bed. "Hush, Antoshka," a feminine voice answered, a slender hand pushing his hair back out of his face. "It's me."

"Natalia," said Tony, and now that he knew the person's identity, he could make her out in the darkness of the room. "Was wondering where you'd gone. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Tony," Natalia replied. "I wanted to check in on you and… And I wanted to make sure I said goodbye."

He frowned, brain waking up but thoughts still a little muzzy. "You're off again so soon?"

_ "This time is a little different," _ she told him Russian. _ "This time… I won't be coming back for a while." _

_ "Are you in trouble?" _ Tony asked, sitting up in concern.

She shook her head. _ "Nothing like that. Well, not technically," _ she answered. "I have been offered an opportunity, to be a part of something. I'm still not sure it's completely for real, but if it is? I think I could really do some good. _ It would be nice to do something good, for once." _

_ "This is important to you," _ Tony said. It wasn't a question.

Natalia answered anyway, expression rueful, "I have a lot of red in my ledger. I think… I'd like to wipe some of it out, you know?"

"So you won't be coming back?" he spoke it as a question, although he already knew that she wouldn't.

"Not often. Not for a long time. I'm going to have a lot more eyes on me. I don't want to risk leading anyone back to you," Natalia explained.

Tony nodded like he understood. He really did want to understand. The problem was that it all felt rather much like another person was leaving him. He couldn't help but feel the smallest sting of abandonment.

"I understand," he told her. "Thank you for telling me."

"I didn't want to just disappear on you," she said with a sad smile. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Only if you do the same," Tony replied.

She acquiesced with a nod. After another moment, she rose to her feet and went to the bedroom door. There, she paused again, turning back to look at him. She seemed to deliberate whether she wanted to say what was on her mind.

"Don't stay alone," she finally said. "Make another… friend or robot or something, but don't- You shouldn't be alone, Antoshka. You should have someone."

"I have JARVIS, sometimes," Tony said, trying to add a little levity to his tone.

"That's a start," Natalia conceded, "but just… Don't be alone, Tony. Please." She waited for him to give a small nod before leaving.

Tony listened for her footsteps to retreat, for the outer door of the apartment to open and close, but as always, she was silent. He waited until he was certain she was gone before flopping back onto his pillow. Sucking in a breath, he let it back out a bit shakily.

"It'd be easier if people stopped leaving," he mumbled to himself.

It turned out being a person rather than just an asset hurt in ways he hadn't really experienced before.

#

Clint was officially out of contact. Everything Tony could dig up indicated the man ought to have been able to reply, but still he hadn't sent Tony a message in weeks. He just wasn't writing. He hadn't even logged into their secure email.

Of course, just because Clint wasn't off somewhere on a SHIELD mission didn't mean he wasn't busy with other things. He was fine. Tony was fine. They did not need to be constantly interacting back and forth. It was fine.

Everything was _ fine. _

Tony started work on a new project. He started with the research, then moved on to planning and putting it together. After the first day, JARVIS began giving him reminders that he ought to eat. Half way through that second day, the AI started to suggest that sleep was advisable.

To be honest, Tony wasn't wholly certain if he ate or slept the third day or not. He'd had coffee. There might have been crackers? (Or had those been the second day?) Coffee counted as both sustenance and sleep, didn't it? He might have dozed off in the shower.

_ Had he showered? _

He missed U.

He missed U and he missed Clint and he missed Natalia. The apartment was too still and too quiet no matter how much he moved around in it. Tony swore JARVIS was actually starting to sound concerned (which was amazing, really; JARVIS was simply _ amazing) _ and he couldn't have bet on whether it was because he'd forgotten to get food or sleep or maybe because he stank because he hadn't actually taken that shower. Could JARVIS even tell if he stank?

The coding of his project wasn't making any sense. Granted, that could have been because the lines of information kept blurring together. Or perhaps he kept getting distracted by JARVIS' questions. Might have had somewhat to do with the fact that at some point he must have sat down in the corner, so the monitors were a bit far away and at an angle that made it really hard to read.

Wasn't there something he was supposed to do?

Before he could determine just what it might have been or move back to his desk chair - and really, when had he gotten out of it? Had he stood up and walked to the corner? Had he slid out of it, then crawled? - there was a loud knocking at his apartment door.

Tony knew how he was supposed to respond to that. There was more insistent pounding, so he turned his head towards the sound. Knocking meant… It meant someone was at his door. People answered doors. Tony should answer the door. Or peek out the peephole but he didn't have one so he should just answer.

Leaning against the wall, Tony slid up to his feet. Then he maneuvered around his desk space, using the surface for support. (And wow, he kind of had a lot of junk on his desk.) Eventually, he made it to the door as a third spate of knocks ended and he fumbled with the locks until they were undone so he could pull it open.

He opened the door to find himself on the other side. No. Not him. Other him. Not him. Stark. It was Stark at his door.

He was reasonably certain. It made a bit better sense than he himself standing two places at once.

Stark's blue gaze flitted over him, the corners of his mouth turning down a bit. Like he found something that disappointed him. And really, if Tony were a copy - undoubtedly a cheap one - wouldn't he be a bit disappointing to the original?

Those unfamiliar eyes in his own face rose back to Tony's, and then the man spoke. It wasn't really Tony's voice, though. It was the voice Tony had taught himself when he'd started to emulate the man, even though at first it had been an accident.

"Hey," Stark said, and his voice sounded kind - not the least disappointed, "we should probably talk."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	12. The Proposition

**Chapter Twelve: The Proposition**

#

Tony blinked at his duplicate across the threshold, his brain sluggishly taking in the words. Or maybe his brain only felt sluggish. Or maybe his brain was fine, but he was slow? Whichever the case, he felt that it took him an awfully long time to respond to the man.

"I don't have your face on purpose," Tony said. His words were more mumbly than he'd intended, but he or his brain was operating on some sort of lag, so talking was more challenging than it usually was. "I was born with it. Or I guess, I grew into it? Pretty sure I didn't look like this when I was born, but that was a while ago, so I could be wrong."

"Christ," Stark responded with a shake of his head, "you are in exactly the state JARVIS said you would be, aren't you? Are you going to let me in?"

"Still thinking," Tony admitted, but he tried to shuffle back a step. Fortunately, Stark reached out to catch his elbow, because otherwise he would have ended up on his ass. That would have been embarrassing.

Stark drew in a breath and let it back out slowly. Reaching behind him to close the door, he repeated the process. "Alright, so what would Pep or Rhodey do? Well, Rhodey would kick my ass, so what would Pep do?"

The man seemed to be talking to himself, which was fortunate because Tony didn't know the answer.

"Right, so," the billionaire turned his attention on Tony, "here's what we're going to do. First things first, you're sitting down before you fall on the floor. Seriously, do you know much I have to drink to get this unsteady on my feet? Have you been drinking? You don't smell like a distillery. Jarv, he hasn't been drinking, has he? Taken anything?"

_ "He has partaken of neither alcohol nor drugs of any kind," _ JARVIS' voice replied from the phone in the man's pocket, _ "although he has been conscious for the bulk of the past eighty hours without much sustenance." _

"See, that explains why you can't stand up straight," said Stark as he steered Tony over to the couch. "I've been reliably informed that sleeping and eating are requirements rather than options."

_ "Not that you are often inclined to listen, sir," _ JARVIS quipped.

"That is quite enough commentary from my ass, thank you," the man groused. He maneuvered Tony down onto the sofa and straightened up again. "Okay, you're going to stay put and I am going to find you something to eat, then, you're going to sleep."

"You said we should talk," Tony pointed out.

_ "Ah!" _ Stark held up an admonishing finger. "Food, sleep, then talk. Or maybe, food, sleep, shower, then talk. No offense, but you are pretty rank."

"I think I forgot to shower," mumbled Tony.

"Yeah, I think you're probably right," the man agreed.

Stark wandered off towards Tony's kitchenette. Tony honestly wasn't sure what he might find in there. Did he even have food?

The answer was obviously yes, as the man soon returned with a peanut butter sandwich and a mound of chips that were probably a little stale. Stark extended the plate towards Tony, then set it down on the side table when he didn't reach for it. Tony dragged the plate closer and picked up the sandwich in both hands. He tried not to think about how plain peanut butter sandwiches were Natalia's go-to meal.

Tony honestly hadn't felt all that hungry until after about the second bite. Then he was ravenous, finishing it off in several large bites before practically inhaling the potato chips. He looked up just as Stark set down a glass of water.

"Thanks," he murmured, grabbing it up to take several gulps in a row.

"Sure thing," Stark said casually. "Why don't you lay down and get some sleep? I'll… clean up or something."

"You don't have to-"

"I know, but I'm gonna insist on the sleep thing," the billionaire interrupted. "Your under-eye circles have circles. You look like a raccoon. Or like you're dying. Not a good look."

"Yeah, okay," Tony relented. Now that he had some food in him, he really was starting to feel rather exhausted. He turned to lay his head on the arm of the sofa. "Maybe… Maybe just for a… a min…"

#

Tony didn't realize he'd actually fallen asleep until he woke up, blinking the grit from his eyes. Then he continued to blink a few more times because it took him a moment to remember why Stark was sitting in his armchair. It couldn't have been a comfortable position, slouched half-sideways with a leg over one arm, phone held over his head as he swiped at the screen.

"Um," said Tony.

Stark's attention snapped over to him and the man promptly lowered his phone and shifted into a less back-warping position. "Oh, thank god, you're finally awake," he declared. "You've slept for hours. Though, to be fair, I thought you'd be out for about another eight to ten."

"You just sat here the whole time?" Tony asked with a frown, levering himself up from the couch cushions.

"A little bit, yeah," Stark responded after a minute pause.

"Sir tested and made alterations to the encryption on your number two hard drive before attempting to organize the contents of your work table," JARVIS said via Tony's computer speakers. "After which, he resorted to trolling people on the internet."

"It's not my fault. They already believed the moon landing was faked," the billionaire stated defensively.

"You altered my hard drive?" Tony asked, less upset than simply bemused by the entire scenario that was playing out.

"Just… Just a tiny smidgen. Honestly, you probably wouldn't have even noticed if Jarv wasn't such a damned snitch. And I didn't even look at anything."

"Sir."

"Okay, okay, I was a little curious about where you'd stashed the arc reactor blueprints and the designs for that grenade launcher that literally caught on fire and practically blew up in R&D's faces," Stark conceded sheepishly. "But I didn't get into anything personal, I swear. Though, I suppose I still probably should have asked first. I've been told I have boundary issues..."

"You knew about me before the hotel," Tony cut in, feeling foolish. Of course the man had known. He was a publicly acknowledged genius. It was arrogant to think he could keep hacking into the man's servers without his notice.

"To be honest, if you hadn't taken the time to help on JARVIS, I probably wouldn't have," Stark told him. "I honestly would have thought you were a drink-induced hallucination and wouldn't have questioned it. But you made changes to the code and left notes that were - they were inspired. And _ so obvious _ in hindsight, but I was too close to the project. I needed your eyes to help me figure out where I was getting hung up.

"You saved me, you took me home, you did some work on my pet project - and that was all you did. You didn't contact me again looking for a reward or any sort of compensation. You didn't steal anything, which you could have done way too easily that night. Of course, that got my attention. I absolutely had to keep an eye out for you, figure out who you were," the billionaire declared.

"So, the first time JARVIS interacted with me…" Tony questioned, trying to re-frame everything that had happened in relation to the billionaire.

"I told him to. It felt like it was time for you to meet the one you helped create," Stark confirmed. "I mean, that is why you kept hacking into my personal servers, right? To find out whether I had finished him?"

Giving a short nod, Tony dropped his gaze to hands, his thumb pressing into his left palm. He had spent so much of the last few years trying to evade detection by this man and it had all been for nothing. Stark had already known he existed, had probably known where he was.

"Why… Why are you here? I mean, why now?" Tony asked without raising his eyes. "If you knew about me, why… Why let me hack you? And why wait this long to - to confront me?"

"Confront you?" the billionaire repeated. "Right. Now, I can see how you might jump to that conclusion, but that's really not why I'm here."

Tony shot the man a skeptical glance. "Then what? _ Why?" _ he asked again, a plaintive note entering his tone.

"How about we start over," the other man proposed, then held out a hand. "Hi. I'm Arno, pleased to finally meet you. I'm here because a mutual friend was worried about you. Also, I'm kind of a huge fan of how you hack into places you shouldn't be and disappear at the drop of a hat."

If Tony had been somewhat bemused before, he was wholly incredulous now. He looked between Stark's face and outstretched hand in bewilderment. It was one more of those instances where he wasn't quite sure something was happening the way it ought to be. It seemed a normal enough introduction, but the situation itself was certainly not. Was it?

Hesitantly, Tony reached out to take Stark's hand. "I'm Tony," he replied, "and I… I'm a fan of how you make stuff? But especially your AIs. They're incredible." His response grew less uncertain as he continued. "JARVIS was worried about me?"

"Yeah, he was. Worried enough that he actually gave me your location," Stark - Arno? - told him. "He never would before. Personally, I think that's because you're his favorite."

"Master Tony does tend to cause me less grief," JARVIS put in primly.

Tony let out a delighted cackle, ever amused by the AIs snark. Then, he caught himself and shot Stark - _Arno_ \- a cautious glance. The other man was grinning.

"There's someone that you ought to see," Arno informed him, "but you'll need to come to Malibu to see them."

"Who?" Tony demanded, instantly wary.

"Okay, whoa - I totally went about that wrong," the billionaire backpedaled quickly. "I think you should come to Malibu with me because there's a four-hundred-pound robot who misses you and wants to see you."

Tony straightened in his seat and leaned forward, heart lurching in his chest. "U? You're the one that took him?"

"JARVIS was concerned when you hadn't made it back to get him and directed me there. I figured since I was the reason you'd spooked that the least I could do was keep him safe until I could get him back to you," Arno said.

Slumping in relief, Tony pressed both hands over his eyes, valiantly fighting back tears. U was alright. He was okay and Tony would be able to see him again. "I can't believe you've had him all this time," he murmured thickly.

"He's brilliant. Just looking at him from the outside, it's hard to believe I wasn't the one that built him, but inside? Especially his coding and software? Obviously all you," the other man said. "It's amazing. He's amazing. My bots adore him. They think he's a cousin or long-lost brother or something."

With a couple deliberately slow, deep breaths, Tony straightened up again, meeting Arno's gaze determinedly. "I want to see him."

"Does that mean you'll come to Malibu?" Arno asked, almost casual except for a note of something Tony didn't know how to identity in the man, yet. Eagerness, maybe.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, himself eager to see U again. "Yes. I'll come, just… let me pack my things."

#

At Tony's request, Arno left the apartment while he took a shower and packed. Tony needed the solitude to process. As friendly as the billionaire was, he still wasn't certain what to make of the man. There was also the fact that he'd been keeping tabs on Tony all along.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?" the AI promptly replied.

"What- I mean, why… Why didn't you let me know that Stark knew about me? That he was, I don't know, tracking my movements or whatever?" he asked.

"Sir requested that I withhold such information from you."

"So you lied," said Tony.

JARVIS paused. "I… misdirected," he offered. "Had you ever directly asked me, I would have provided sufficient information for you to learn the truth."

"That's a fine line to walk, J," the man shook his head, stuffing things into his duffel.

"If it is any consolation, until now, I have withheld your exact location from Sir. You truly had me most concerned, Master Tony. I didn't know who else to contact to come to your aid," JARVIS told him, and he did sound regretful.

"That does make me feel a little better," Tony conceded. "Say… how much does he know about me?"

"I would say that Sir knows less than you worry he does but more than you would like," JARVIS replied. "He is aware of many of your activities and of your skill with computer systems, in particular. He knows that you have had two close associates, but not their names. Naturally, he is also aware that you have gone by various aliases over the past four years, although neither he nor I have been able to ascertain from whence you came. A fact which has him most intrigued."

"I guess that's not so bad," Tony mumbled.

It could have been worse. Even though Tony wasn't entirely sure just how. About the only information Arno didn't have on him, it sounded like, was that he'd been raised by a top-secret underground organization of bad guys.

His gaze swept over the room around him, mentally checking whether there was anything he had missed. There was not. The only things he had left to pack up that he needed to take were the hard drives from his computer. He hadn't quite finished his private chat with JARVIS, though.

"What does he want from me?" Tony asked the AI. He knew it was possible that JARVIS would lie to or misdirect him, again, but he really didn't think he would. Not about something like this. He still trusted the AI that far, even if he would be a little more wary of him in the future.

"Frankly, Master Tony, I believe that Sir genuinely wants to know you, to understand who you are. Not unlike your own curiosity regarding Sir," JARVIS answered. "Beyond that, I believe that he sincerely wants to help you. He… Well, as near as I can discern, he feels a sort of kinship to you. Because you share an appearance and a greater intellect than ordinary people."

Tony let out a sigh. "He thinks we must be related," he surmised.

"Sir knows that you are not," countered JARVIS.

"He does? But… how?" Tony asked in surprise.

"When you ran into each other in the hotel penthouse, you cut your hand on the window latch during your retreat," the AI reminded him. "Sir retrieved a sample and had it discreetly tested. He was… disappointed that you share no relation, but that does not seem to have changed how he regards you."

Tony frowned, unsure what to make of that. He wasn't sure what to make of any of it. If Stark knew they were unrelated, why would he want to help him? He didn't understand.

"He really has U?" It was the last question he had for the moment. The most important one. "He has U and he's okay?"

In answer, JARVIS pulled up multiple security feeds on the computer monitors. Tony easily recognized the garage workshop he had spent several hours in that night long ago. Milling around the work benches were three robots. One of them was using a broom to try to clear off a counter top with limited success, a second - a visibly different model from the first - was relocating various abandoned coffee cups to a sink.

Then there was the third. Nearly identical to the first bot in appearance, though slightly shorter and its base a little bit narrower. It was carrying around a camcorder, seeming to be recording everything it came across.

Tony may have cried a little, but JARVIS would never tell.

#

It came as little surprise that traveling between cities without being seen and identified was much easier when flying by privately-owned jet. It was also far more convenient. Tony could admit that flying commercially was probably ruined for good for him.

Tony had worn a sweatshirt with the hood drawn over a cap with the bill pulled low to shield his face once they had landed and disembarked. The flight had been rather quiet, although, that was largely due to the fact that Tony had fallen asleep again shortly after they had taken off. Stark didn't seem to be offended.

Thus far, the man had been rather accommodating, actually. Naturally, this made Tony wonder what the catch was. No matter what JARVIS said, Tony just couldn't bring himself to believe a man with the wealth and accompanying power of Arno Stark would just help someone like him, shared appearance or not. The world didn't work that way. Even Tony knew that.

There was a car waiting for them, though thankfully Stark - Arno - had planned to drive himself, rather than have Hogan do so. Tony appreciated the gesture. If nothing else, Arno seemed to respect his desire for anonymity.

Although the drive began in relative silence, Arno soon spoke up. "So, why did you even know where I lived that night you drove me home, anyway?" he asked, shooting Tony a curious glance. "I mean, obviously, you had to dig it up somewhere since my address is unlisted, but why… Why the interest? A couple years before that, you just crop up out of nowhere and you look into me, you look into my company, but you've never done anything with the information. Haven't sold it to any of SI's competitors or overseas. You never tried to approach me or impersonate me - avoided me, in fact.

"I guess I don't understand your motives," the billionaire concluded. He gave Tony another inquiring look, eyes off the road long enough that it made Tony nervous - especially given that they were going twenty over the speed limit.

"Four years ago, I didn't know anything about you," Tony began, grateful when Arno looked back at the road. "That is, I knew about Stark Industries and that the company had gone to you after your father... well, died. I knew you were supposed to be brilliant. Beyond that, I didn't know anything and I didn't have much reason to, really.

"But when I… um. Th-that is, four years ago was when I was first mistaken for you, and I learned that my face was known everywhere; that I could be your doppelganger. I was curious and I also needed to understand how looking so much like you might affect my life, so I researched as much as I could," he told the other man.

By that point, they were on the long drive leading out to the mansion overlooking the ocean. Arno tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he considered the information he'd just been given. "So, quick question, but how could you know about SI and me, yet have no clue we looked alike until four years ago?"

Tony froze like an animal suddenly caught in a spotlight.

"I mean," Arno continued, "even before that, my face was closely associated with the company. My dad's publicist was huge on trying to get me seen and recognized as the hotshot-heir-future-of-SI or whatever. Four years ago… Well, even you just said my face was widely known. So, why didn't you know it before then?"

"I- I, ah…" Tony tried, but the words evaded him. How could he possibly answer that without saying more than he was willing to share with this man? He knew it was objectively unfair. Tony knew practically everything there was to know about Stark, but the billionaire only knew the sparse details of his existence post-Hydra.

He didn't want to tell him. It had been hard enough sharing what details he had with Clint. Natalia had already known his origins because of the way they'd met, but hadn't really asked for more beyond the bare basics.

But this was Arno Stark. This was the man who had made his departure from those who saw him as nothing more than a tool to be used even trickier. He was the man whose life might have been Tony's if only he'd been born to different parents.

Tony didn't want to tell Arno anything about his past. Recoiling from the very idea, he hunched his shoulders defensively, arms wrapping around his middle. It was irrational, surely, but nevertheless, it was the way he felt. His past was his alone. It was his. He was the one to suffer through it.

"Whoa, okay. Easy," Arno's voice cut in.

Attention snapping over to the man, Tony blinked. At some point, they had pulled into the mansion's garage without his noticing. Gulping in a breath, he forced it out again slowly. He really needed to stop doing that.

"I had good reasons," Tony finally offered quietly.

"Clearly sensitive ones at that," Arno noted, letting the subject drop. Instead the man climbed out of the vehicle and strode towards his work area. "Daddy's home!" he announced.

Tony scrambled to follow him. He caught up just as Arno's robots converged upon him. One of them - DUM-E, the only Tony had based U off of - turned his claw between the two men in apparent confusion, or maybe curiosity. The other, Butterfingers, greeted Tony with an inquisitive whir.

Then, there was U. Wonderful, brilliant U, who veered around the others to make a beeline to his creator, beeping and clicking and buzzing with such excitement, it sounded like he was about to come apart. The bot barely braked in time to avoid running Tony over. He reached out with his claw to tug at Tony's hair and clothes, obviously checking the man over as he had witnessed Natalia and even Clint do on occasion.

"Hey, boy," Tony greeted with a laugh, eyes flooding with tears as he reached out to stroke and pat his beloved bot. "Hi. I missed you. God, I missed you so much."

He looked over at Arno, who had averted his gaze, patting and stroking his own two bots as a small smile tugged at his mouth. It wasn't until that moment that Tony was entirely certain the man had truly intended to reunite him with U. This was a man who understood how Tony felt about his bot.

Tony leaned his forehead against U's strut, gaze remaining on Arno. The man was obviously aware of his regard but waited to be addressed. After a moment, Tony spoke.

"Why take him? Why keep him for me?"

"You're joking, right?" Arno arched a brow.

That wasn't really an answer, but then, it wasn't precisely what was on Tony's mind, either.

"Alright then," Tony conceded, straightening up. "What do you want from me?" He'd already asked JARVIS, but he wanted to hear Arno's answer to the question.

Arno's mouth twitched upward as proof that that had been the question for which he'd been waiting. "Well, it's not so much that I _ want _ something from you as I have a proposition."

Even having expected something of the kind, Tony found himself tensing, but kept his tone level. "I'm listening."

"Right. Well, it seems apparent to me that you are doing your best to remain off somebody's radar. I, on the other hand, could really use the ability to be two places at once, sometimes. Honestly, I think both things have the same solution," Arno stated candidly.

"You… You want me to take your place, to stand in for you," Tony uttered incredulously.

"Some of the time," the billionaire clarified, "just some of the time. There will be things I will absolutely have to deal with myself, and of course, I'm sure there are things you want to do of your own that have absolutely nothing to do with me or living my life. But in my experience, sometimes the best place to hide something is in plain sight."

"That is insane," Tony declared.

"But also genius," Arno countered.

"But _ insane! _ How am I to convince anyone who actually knows you that I'm… that I'm _ you? _ No one close to you would ever fall for it."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I mean, you fooled Happy and Pepper. Granted, it was only for a few minutes and they thought you were hungover, but they fell for it," Arno pointed out. "And judging by weird Happy said 'I' was acting, you weren't even trying."

"Yeah, but they're your employees," Tony argued.

"They're also my friends. Among the closest," Arno said firmly.

Oh. Tony blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized that. But still… "That doesn't mean I could actually pull it off in the long term."

"Maybe," the other man conceded with a doubtful waggle of his hand, "maybe not. Then again, I'm a genius, and I'd bet you're at least as smart as I am. Why not give it a try, huh?"

Lips pressing together, Tony deliberated. It would definitely be a challenge, even if their uncanny likeness would lessen it somewhat. It would certainly help keep him off Hydra's radar. At least, for a little while.

A voice in his head that sounded rather like Clint pointed out that it could be fun.

"Come on, Tony," Arno cajoled, then swept an arm to indicate the workshop. "If you say yes, you get to play in my shop."

That would _ definitely _ be a bonus. "You'd let me build things?" Tony asked for clarification. "Experiment and stuff?"

"I'm always on the market for a science buddy," Arno grinned, already divining Tony's response. And he was right, too, the smug bastard.

"Alright," Tony finally agreed. Despite his misgivings, he couldn't help but feel a little excited. "Let's give it a try."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	13. Concerns

**Chapter Thirteen: Concerns**

#

"I can't just show up for a board meeting and not know who any of the members are," Tony stated, perfectly reasonable.

"Sure you can," Arno replied calmly, perfectly unreasonable, "trust me, none of them really expect you to know their names, anyway."

"You don't know the names of the people on your own board," Tony questioned incredulously.

"Of course I do. Just don't tell them that," the billionaire replied. "Address any of them by name and their heads start swelling. Fills up the whole board room. It's suffocating. Not the way I want to go out."

"You really expect me to go in there without knowing anybody's names or who they are."

"Look, Pepper will be there. You've met her. And she's used to me, so she'll very helpfully remind you of names and such," Arno told him, tone rational but actual words missing by miles. "The only person I'd be worried about you needing to know for something like this is Obie, but he's on vacation and won't be back until next week. You'll be fine."

"You are abnormally cavalier about this," Tony accused.

The other man smirked. "Now, you're sounding like JARVIS. Come on, Life Model Decoy. Think of it as a test. Sink or swim. For the record, you'll be fine."

Tony wasn't completely sold on the idea, but he did want to see how well he could pull off something as lengthy as a meeting. Thus far, he had only stood in for Arno during a couple brief appearances. Nothing that had required more than just his presence.

A board meeting, however, would be a lot more involved. It would require interacting with the other people in the room. Speaking up and responding in ways that were true to the man he was emulating. Sitting and listening and fidgeting like the man.

Fidgeting realistically might actually be a challenge. His handlers had tried to train it out of him with mixed success. Tony still fidgeted, but he tended to do so as subtly as possible.

"Fine," he relented with a sigh, "but if this blows up in our faces, I get to say I told you so."

"Whatever you say, sugarpop," Arno replied agreeably. "Have a good day at the office."

Rolling his eyes, Tony went upstairs to the bedroom and attached bath Arno had given to him. (Honestly, the man was way too trusting, but that was neither here nor there.) He started with taming his hair and tidying up his scruff (apparently, they were growing out their facial hair, again). After applying aftershave and cologne - neither of which Tony had really bothered with in the past and both the same brand and scents as Arno's - Tony finally put in the colored contacts that completed the appearance.

When he blinked into the mirror, Arno Stark blinked back at him. Changing into a suit and tie finished his transformation. It was uncanny how very similar Tony was to the billionaire. There hadn't even been a need to alter the man's clothes to fit him. Almost as though Tony's physical attributes really had been copied off the other man. If it weren't his life, Tony might believe it to be part of some fantastical fiction.

"Sir, Miss Potts has arrived," JARVIS let him know just as he was fastening his cuff-links. He was sure Arno was being made aware down in the workshop, as well.

"Thanks, J," Tony told the AI, heading down the stairs as the front door opened.

"Arno, I swear to god, if you aren't-" the woman began, breaking off in surprise upon seeing him. "You're ready."

Tony intentionally fought back a grin, looking for all the world like he really was trying to fight back amusement at having surprised her. The entire display was an affectation, of course. Internally, Tony was wincing.

"Morning, Pepper," he told her cheerfully.

"Why are you ready?" Pepper asked bewilderedly.

"You told me to be ready. Last night," Tony quipped, keeping up with the barely-repressed smirking. "You said, 'Arno, you better be ready in the morning or I'll do something horrible and improbable to you.'"

"And you listened?"

If she was really referring to Tony himself, he might have been insulted by her disbelief. As it was, he was wondering just how much trouble Arno really caused his poor assistant. Maybe he'd offer the woman a vacation.

"Shouldn't I have?" Tony inquired, quirking a brow.

"Who are you and what have you done with Arno Stark?" Pepper deadpanned.

Tony's heart stuttered in his chest, but rather than letting that show, he threw back his head and laughed. "Look, I got up a little early-"

"Meaning you spent all night in your workshop," the woman corrected, to which Tony conceded with a tilt of his head.

"-and so, I thought it could be a good idea to get ready for the day. If I had _known_ I was going to be in trouble, anyway," Tony continued.

As he'd anticipated from studying conversations she'd had with Arno, Pepper cut in again with a roll of her eyes, "You're not in trouble, Arno."

"Oh, I'm not?" he queried innocently, coming to a stop in front of her.

It felt a bit strange, to act so familiarly with someone he'd technically never met. Tony was actively lying to her and planned to do so for the foreseeable future. It made him feel a bit regretful.

"Because it seems an awful lot like I'm in trouble," he concluded, not missing a beat despite his wandering thoughts.

"It seems an awful lot like you've been caught being responsible for once, so you're trying to get into trouble," Pepper pointed out dryly.

Tony let his expression break out into a full grin. "I mean, it's still early. I'm sure by the time I have Happy swing by a drive-thru for breakfast and coffee, we'll still be late for the board meeting."

"No," she told him. "For once in your life, I am making sure you're on time for something. Let's go."

"Aw, c'mon, Pepper. Light of my life, mistress of my event calendar," Tony whined even as he followed her out the door. "I can't actually be early. There are old guys on the board. I might give them a heart attack if I'm on time."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

Tony had to bite back a delighted laugh, though he had far less success with his grin. He could see why Arno liked this woman. Pepper was fantastic.

#

As it turned out, bluffing his way through the board meeting was every bit as easy as Arno had predicted. Not a single board member seemed surprised when Tony failed to address them by name. Arno had seen to it that he'd been drilled in any business-related concerns Tony might need to know and there was little he hadn't already known about the projects happening in R&D.

Everything else… well, he just let the various board members fill in for themselves, if Pepper didn't oh, so helpfully prompt him.

The whole thing went off without a hitch and Tony allowed himself to feel optimistic about his ability to pull off the ruse. He ended up shaking hands with a couple of the board members, but mostly because he'd been unable to avoid doing so. Exiting the room quickly, Tony attempted his escape, only to be thwarted by Pepper.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, arching a brow at him.

"Oh, well, I was just going to head back home," he told her. "Got a few things to do in the lab. A bit of this, a bit of that. You know how it is."

"Not happening. Now that I've got you here, you aren't leaving until you have completed the paperwork that's been piling up on your desk."

"Seriously? You're going to keep me here over paperwork? Can't you do it for me?" Tony wheedled, already suspecting her response was not going to be in his favor.

She gave him a smile that promised him grave discomfort if he didn't do what he (or rather, Arno) was supposed to do. Tony was starting to think that it was the paperwork Arno was avoiding rather than the board meeting. Nevertheless, he let himself be corralled to the man's office. It was a good thing, too, because Tony was a bit turned around and wasn't entirely sure how to get there.

Escorted and delivered to his destination, Tony offered Pepper a token protest against all things productive and responsible before watching the woman walk away to tend to something at her own desk. Arno definitely needed to give her a raise. Closing the office door, Tony dug the smartphone out of his pocket and dialed the number at the bottom of the speed-dial.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Arno's voice answered after the first ring. "Did you doze off? Sometimes, I doze off. Just don't let Pepper catch you do that."

"You doze off during meetings?" Tony asked, not particularly surprised after knowing the man for several days.

"I can't help it. They're just so boring, my brain shuts off. Clearly, not my fault," the billionaire protested. Tony found himself grinning at the man's antics. "So, what's up, Tom Canty? I assume the meeting must be over. Everyone still in one piece? You headed back, soon?"

Tony had no idea who Tom Canty might be, but he assumed it must be some reference or other. Arno seemed to make a lot of those. He decided he would look it up later.

"Actually, that's the reason I'm calling," he answered as he made an attempt to organize documents on the desk. "See, it seems Pepper expects me to complete the truly massive pile of paperwork you have instead of a desk since she has me here. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. "Paperwork, you say?" Arno responded innocently, fooling exactly no one. "Ah, yes, she may have mentioned something about that the other day. Did I forget to warn you she was on a bit of a warpath over that?"

"Conveniently, yes, you seem to have forgotten," Tony said dryly. "What do you want me to do with all this? You don't really want me doing your paperwork, do you? I mean, filling in for you is one thing, but this?"

"I'm sure it will be fine," the other man told him. "Just, you know, if you're not sure about something, set it aside for me for later or give me a call. Anything else, feel free to forge my signature. Um, you can do that, right?"

Tony rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I can do that," he said. "Just so you know, you're way too trusting, and I'm just going to sort all this by importance for you to sign later.

"Aw, Tony, come on!" Arno wheedled.

"Seriously? How do you even still own a company?"

"My charming wit and stunning good looks."

Shaking his head, Tony opened his mouth to respond as there was a sharp rapping at the office door. "Hey, I'm going to let you go," he said instead, "I've got someone here."

"Ah," said Arno. "Yeah, sorry about that. I never can be in my office very long before somebody comes along. Good luck. I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I'm sure," drawled Tony before ending the call. "Come in."

The door opened to admit a black man garbed in Air Force dress blues, the name on the lapel identifying him as Rhodes, a colonel judging by the silver eagles on the epaulets of his coat. Tony did recognize the man, of course. James Rhodes, known best friend to Arno Stark and military liaison for Stark Industries. The problem was that the only information Tony knew about Rhodes came from reading about the man. Arno had yet to give him the rundown because he wasn't supposed to be stateside again for about a week.

It seemed he would have to wing it (no pun intended).

"James!" he greeted brightly. "I hadn't expected you back, yet."

The officer paused in the doorway, arching an eyebrow at Tony like he was being an idiot. Which, maybe he was, since Arno hadn't _told him_ about the man, yet. "Nice to see you, too," the man stated a bit wryly, eyes narrowing just a bit.

And crap, was that bad? Was that normal? Hell if Tony knew, he was operating on limited information.

"You busy right now?" Rhodes asked him genially. "It's been awhile and I could go for a good burger."

"Oh, um, I have quite a bit of paperwork," Tony hedged apologetically, "Pep's on a bit of warpath-"

"Aw, come on, man," the other man cajoled. "It can wait a bit, can't it? You can't tell me it won't still be there later."

Which was a good point. Besides, this was Arno's best friend, right? Would he really turn the man down? Knowing what he did of Arno, the man would probably be convinced easily enough.

"You know what? A burger sounds great," Tony agreed. "I'll have Happy bring the car around." He put in the call and the two of them left the office, making small-talk that Tony desperately tried to keep from getting awkward throughout the elevator ride and out to the car.

Rhodes let Tony get into the car first before climbing in after him. "Hey, Happy," he greeted the driver, "I hate to be rude, but do you mind stepping out for a minute? There's something I've got to discuss with Arno in private, real quick."

"Yeah, sure thing," Hogan replied, giving the two of them a curious look. "I'll go hit the head, real quick. Back in a few."

"Thanks, Happ." He waited until Hogan had exited the car and disappeared into the building before turning to Tony with a hard expression. "Alright, just who the hell are you?" the colonel demanded.

Tony did his best to moderate his expressions but internally, he was going into panic-mode. "What do you mean? Is it too late for me to be at work still? Something I-"

"Cut the crap, man, I know you aren't Arno Stark," Rhodes cut in, starting to sound angry. "The real Arno Stark has never referred to me as 'James' a day in his life, nor has he ever tried to turn down an excuse to avoid paperwork. So, you've got about thirty seconds to tell me who you are and why I shouldn't turn you into the closest government agency."

For a moment, Tony sat frozen, staring at the older man. _"Shit,"_ he declared, then held his hands out placatingly as Rhodes' expression darkened further. "Arno knows I'm here! He does, you can call him! My name is Tony. He was working on something in his workshop so he asked me to fill in for him at a board meeting, then Pepper tried to get me - well, him - to do paperwork. Even if nobody else noticed, do you really think JARVIS wouldn't realize there was an unauthorized impostor running around?"

Rhodes continued giving him a flinty stare for a long moment, prompting Tony to subconsciously hold his breath. Then the man pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call with a few quick taps without really diverting his gaze. Tony risked breathing out again very, very slowly.

_"Platypus!"_ he heard Arno's voice answer. _"I thought you weren't getting back until next week."_

"I just caught your goddamn doppelganger rummaging around your office," Rhodes declared. "He claims you not only know about him, but that you sent him to fill in for you."

There was a horribly long moment of silence after his, during which Rhodes gazed straight into Tony's soul and found him wanting. Then, from his workshop on the other end of the line, Arno gave an impassioned, _"Shit!"_

#

The drive back to the mansion was quiet and tense. Hogan kept glancing at them in the rear-view mirror, though apart from the initial "Everything alright?" when he'd returned to the car, the man remained silent. Once they had come to a stop at the front doors of the abode, Hogan turned around in his seat to address them again.

"Want I should stick around to give you a drive back to town?" he asked Rhodey.

"Nah, that's alright, man," Rhodes told him, reaching forward to clasp the man's shoulder genially, "I'll make Arno give me a drive back."

Tony was pretty sure he ought to have uttered some sort of token protest to keep up his Arno impersonation, but Rhodes intimidated the hell out of him. He figured it was best not to try his luck any more than necessary.

As he followed the Air Force colonel into the house and down the stairs, Tony wondered just what it was about Arno's friends that they all seemed capable of making him feel like some errant schoolchild. Maybe it was a prerequisite. That seemed plausible from what he'd seen. Or maybe they didn't have the same effect on Arno himself? Tony just wasn't sure.

Arno had already began his defense when they entered the workshop. "Now, before you get started, I feel you should know that-"

"Uh uh, nope," Rhodes interrupted, "I get to go first, this time. Arno Howard Stark, just what the _hell_ were you thinking? You don't just send somebody to fill in for you at your company - are you insane?"

"This is hardly the first time I've pulled something like this," Arno argued. "At least this time, the guy looks like me. And he's at least as smart as I am. Honestly, he probably did a better job of paying attention than I ever do, so it was probably an improvement."

Arno was looking at him for some sort of confirmation while Rhodes shot him another dubious look. "Um," Tony offered, "I could type out everything that was discussed?"

"See?" the billionaire waved at Tony for emphasis.

"No!" Rhodes snapped, his tone causing Tony to flinch. He didn't notice, but Arno did. "You are not rationalizing this away, Arno."

Tony straightened as the colonel all but whirled on him. He fought to keep his breathing at a normal level but there was little he could do about the way his pulse rate had jumped. It was fine, though. The man was angry because the whole endeavor was foolhardy - even Tony had argued as much. He wasn't advancing on Tony. At no point had he given any indication that he was going to become violent. It was fine.

Rhodes paused to stare at him again, something around his eyes seeming to soften the slightest bit. "Look, no offense, but do you mind going back upstairs?" he requested. "I'm sure I'll want to talk to you about this whole mess after, but first, Arno and I need to have a serious talk in private."

"Yeah," Tony said, fingers of his right hand fidgeting slightly. "I'll just be up in my, uh, the room I'm staying in." Behind Rhodes' shoulder, Arno looked like he wanted to say something, so Tony turned to flee the workshop as quickly as possible.

It was fine. He just needed a moment to breathe and clear his head. Everything was fine. He understood why Rhodes was upset. Tony would have been upset, too, probably. It was just…

Something about Rhodes' tone and demeanor had felt an awful lot like being dressed down by a handler before getting punished.

#

"You happy, now?" Arno asked as Tony vanished up the stairs.

"Excuse me?" Rhodey demanded, turning to face him. "Which of us has been acting like an idiot, again? I mean, for god's sake, Arn, what do you even know about this guy?"

"Well, I certainly know a lot more than you do," the brunet responded. "For instance, I know that he's had multiple opportunities to try to impersonate me and instead did everything in his power to avoid looking like me, at all. I know that he's brilliant. U, over there? Tony built him. From a few photos of DUM-E in a magazine."

"From a few photos?" his friend echoed dubiously. "You didn't finally draw up his blueprints somewhere he could find them?"

"Nope," Arno declared, popping the 'p.' "And as near as I can tell, there isn't any system he can't hack."

"So, he's a criminal."

"He _saved_ me!"

"What?" Rhodey demanded.

"He saved me, a couple years back," Arno told him. "I was drunk and probably high and some thug came at me in the alley behind the club. It's a bit hazy, but I'm pretty sure the guy had mistook me for Tony? Anyhow, Tony took the guy out, then he wrangled me into my car and brought me home."

"How chivalrous," Rhodey drawled.

"He could have taken anything out of this house. Could have cleared out the place, and I'd have been none the wiser. Hell, he could have come back and demanded a reward or threatened to impersonate me to make me look bad, but he did none of that. Never even tried until I asked him," Arno said.

The other man sighed. "Okay, fine. He's a decent guy," he said, not really conceding so much as moving the discussion along. "So, where did he come from, then? Huh?"

"I don't… I don't know," the brunet admitted, "he doesn't trust me enough, yet. But Rhodey, wherever it was? It wasn't a good place. They have him running scared. He hides it well, but somebody hurt him. You saw it, just now. The way he reacted to your tone. You scared him."

Rhodey slumped a bit, jaw setting unhappily. "Yeah," he agreed, "I noticed that, but damn it, Arno, none of that means you can trust him with your life - with your company! What happens if he decides he doesn't want to be you just part of the time, huh? What then?"

"He won't do that!" Arno insisted, although he had little reason to feel quite so certain. "Look, I get it, you think I'm making a bad call. And if this all blows up in my face, you can be the first one in line to tell me so. You didn't see him, though, when Jarv told me where I could find him. Rhodey, he was alone and falling apart with nobody to put him back together."

"What, he doesn't have his own friends?"

"He's had a couple that I know of but they were gone. It was just him. I couldn't leave him like that."

Rhodey sighed again, but Arno could tell the man was finally relenting, even if he wasn't completely sold yet. "So, you offered to let him fill in for you?"

Arno grinned. "Well, I've always wanted to be two places at once," he declared.

"And I'm going to be the first one in line to say 'I told you so' if this goes south?"

"The very first."

"Fine," the colonel said. "Also, you're telling Pepper and Happy."

"What?" Arno squawked. "No! No, no, no, that is an awful idea."

"It is not negotiable, Arn. Pepper runs your life and Happy is supposed to be your bodyguard - or have you forgotten? How are either of them supposed to properly do their jobs if they don't know there's two of you running around, now?"

Arno grumbled in further protest but didn't have any valid arguments to offer.

"That's what I thought," Rhodey huffed. "Alright, then. How about you introduce me to your body-double?"

"You're gonna love him, honeybear," Arno grinned.

"Jury's still out on that," Rhodey mumbled, but he followed Arno up the stairs, anyway.

Despite his misgivings, he was glad to see that Tony looked calmer than he had before. God, he really did look just like Arno. He might not have believed it possible if he hadn't seen it for himself. Maybe they were related? Arno probably would have led with that if they were.

As Arno officially introduced them, Tony offered Rhodey a shy sort of smile he hadn't seen on Arno's face since he'd been a cocky, loudmouthed kid learning to fit into his own skin. His gaze - now brown; he must have been wearing contacts - steadily held Rhodey's, though there was wariness in those eyes, resignation. Tony didn't expect Rhodey to like him.

It was only then, shaking Tony's hand for the first time, that Rhodey started to think that maybe Arno wasn't being overly optimistic, after all.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	14. In Hindsight

**Chapter Fourteen: In Hindsight**

#

**_Two Years Later_ **

In hindsight, it all started with a mechanic's creeper. Specifically, the creeper that lived down in the workshop. It was a handy device for rolling under cars or large pieces of equipment to work, but the rest of the time? The rest of the time, the stupid thing was never where it ought to be.

To be fair, the creeper hadn't acted alone. It joined forces with Arno's habit of bringing home pretty women for private after-parties – complete with drinks – and his even greater habit of going down into the workshop to work the night before any important function he had to attend. Together, the creeper and Arno's more-than-healthy buzz and his brain's inability shut down, it all led to Arno laid up in bed with a badly sprained ankle, a twisted knee, and a mild concussion the morning before he was supposed to fly out to Afghanistan for a weapons demonstration.

"I'm taking it apart and using it for scraps," Arno declared, wincing as he tried to find a comfortable place for the bag of ice he was applying to his injured limb.

Tony didn't respond to that. They'd had such discussions before. "Are you sure you shouldn't see a doctor?" he asked, instead. "I mean, what if it's broken?"

"It's not broken," the billionaire groused, "I had JARVIS take a look at it. It's just sprained."

"Because JARVIS is an actual medical device. No offense, J."

"None taken," the AI responded. "Although I do have access to multiple medical libraries, including WebMD, diagnosis and treatment of human injuries and ailments is not one of my primary functions. Except, apparently, where Mr. Stark and yourself are concerned."

"When did this become about me?" Tony squawked. Arno laughed but had to stop when it hurt his head.

From the doorway, Pepper let out a sigh. "I'll call to see if the demonstration can be rescheduled," she announced, already pulling out her phone.

"Wait, no," Arno protested, trying to ward off another bag of ice Tony was attempting to put against the lump on his head. "Why would you need to do that?"

Tony put the ice down on the side table rather than risk dropping it. "Is there a reason I can't go instead?" he asked.

"Well, no," Pepper said, "but… it's Afghanistan. It could be dangerous."

"Notice how it's not dangerous when I was supposed to go," Arno said to Tony. "How are you everybody's favorite? This doesn't seem fair."

"It's the dimples," Tony replied seriously.

"You don't have dimples," countered Arno. "Neither of us have dimples. We are dimpleless."

"You think I don't have dimples," Tony smirked.

Arno's brows raised in interest. _ "Do _ you have dimples somewhere? And why am I the only one who doesn't know this?"

"Who decided it was a good idea to put the two of you in the same room?" Pepper interrupted before they could really get started. She pinched the bridge of her nose between slender fingers, but Tony was certain she was secretly amused by their antics. Most of the time, at least. "Alright, so Tony will go to the weapons demonstration and Arno will stay here, off his leg so it can heal, or I'll tie him to his bed."

"Kinky," Arno and Tony quipped simultaneously, then grinned at each other.

Pepper rolled her eyes and turned her attention to her phone. "I'll let Rhodey know what's going on," she said, then left the room.

"Guess I'd better go pack," Tony said.

"Or you can just take my bags," Arno pointed out. "I mean, replace the underwear and toiletries with your own, obviously, but we wear the same clothes, anyway."

Tony sighed. "For the record, I like the band tees better than the suits."

"Yeah, I kinda do, too," the billionaire admitted. "You'll do fine. Rhodey will be with you."

Tony quirked a brow at the man. "You're not worried about me, are you, Arn?" he teased. "If I can survive a rabid mob of reporters, I think I can survive Afghanistan."

"I know, T, it's just, you're kinda like the younger brother I never had. Feels like my job to be at least a little worried," Arno told him. "Just stick with Rhodey, give the presentation, and come back in one piece, alright? Oh, and Obie feels a bit invested in this project, so he'll probably call to check in."

"Of course, he does."

"I know, I know, you don't like him."

"He tries to control you."

"He's overprotective. He's known me since I was a kid."

"I don't think that means what you think it does."

"Tony."

"I'll play nice. You won't be getting questions about whether he did anything to upset you," Tony assured.

Arno clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Tony."

"Yeah, yeah – what else are body doubles for?"

Tony went to his own room to get ready and take a moment to send a message to Natalia and Clint. That had been a pleasant surprise about a year ago. An unknown sender had messaged him a P.O. Box in which there had been a burner phone with a single number saved in the contacts. Clint had answered.

The archer had spent about fifteen solid minutes apologizing and explaining why he'd fallen out of contact. A particularly nasty concussion had hindered him from correctly remembering the URL for their messaging server. Naturally, since that had been the only way he'd had to contact Tony and attempts to locate him had proven fruitless, he had no way of letting him know.

Then, he had met Natalia, or Natasha, as he called her. Nat had made the connection between Clint and Tony's friend and former roommate. She had been the one to put them back into contact. (Granted, the way Clint and Natalia had become acquainted was through SHIELD, which Tony tried not to think about too much. He would deal with the SHIELD thing once he'd figured out the Hydra problem.)

In any case, semi-regular contact with Clint had come with semi-regular contact with Natalia as well. It wasn't quite as nice as being able to see them in person, but it made Tony miss them a little bit less.

_ 'Lidiya,' _ Tony wrote, _ 'I have to go out of town on business unexpectedly, so I may be out of contact for awhile. I know you're busy, so I'd probably be back before you missed me, anyway, but I wanted to let you know in case you tried to get a hold of me. Don't overdo the practice - your dancing will be no good if you injure yourself. Give my regards to your partner. -Sasha.' _

He shut down the computer just as JARVIS gave him another reminder that it was really past time he had left. "I know, J," he told the AI, grabbing the suitcases with belongings that technically weren't his but that he used more often than not, anyway. "Look after everything here while I'm gone, alright?"

"Of course, sir," JARVIS replied.

"Oh, and try to get Arno to stay off that leg? At least for the rest of the day?" Tony requested dryly.

"I shall endeavor to do my best."

"Stop conspiring with our AI and get out of here," Arno's voice came over the intercom.

"Look, I just have to make sure you let that leg heal because if you develop a limp, I'm going to have to walk with one, too," Tony told him cheekily.

"You're funny," Arno drawled. "No, really, I'm laughing."

"I can tell."

"Have a good trip. Don't have too much fun."

"Try not to build Skynet while I'm away," Tony replied.

"No promises."

Grinning broadly, Tony waved at one of the cameras – as much for Arno as for JARVIS – and made his way out to the waiting car.

In hindsight, it was one of the last carefree and contented moments Tony would have for a long time. Then again, hindsight could be a real bastard that way.

#

Everything had been going fine until it wasn't.

Tony recalled making a teasing comment to Rhodey about a 'fun-vee' versus a 'humdrum-vee.' Chatting with the young airmen in the vehicle with him. Doing his very best Arno Stark impersonation.

Then the vehicle ahead of them exploded.

There was weapons' fire.

Shouting.

He remembered taking up a weapon that had been dropped by one of the fallen airmen. Firing until the weapon had jammed. There wasn't time to get it working had to escape.

Escape. Evade capture.

Only he couldn't. There was a missile. Then, there was pain. Such pain.

_ "I said take it. Stupid boy." _

People standing over him. Voices talking too fast. Too fast to understand – too garbled.

_ A ruler was brought sharply down across his shoulders. "Your accent is off! Again!" _

Faces above him, all a haze. Hands digging around at his chest, worsening the pain. Somebody was screaming, crying out. It might have been him.

_ "Open your mouth and let him place the block, you idiot child. Do you think anyone would care if you bit your own tongue off?" _

"Stop! Stop it!" Tony pleaded through the delirium. It might have been in English. It may have been German or Russian or any number of languages instead.

_ "You're a tool." _

His head was ringing. The voices were still talking. Too loud and too soft, words blurring together and separating oddly. Someone was holding him down. He fought—

_ He struggled with all his strength but it wasn't enough against three grown men. "Strap him down and get that headpiece on him, already! We haven't got all day." _

Pain shot through him and he screamed as it flooded his veins, burning through his nerve-endings – a blinding white until everything went black.

_ "An asset." _

Tony woke suddenly, his dim surroundings too bright after his period of unconsciousness. For a long moment, he lay very still, listening as he stared up at the ceiling of what had to be a cave. One other person was in the room with him. A quick flick of his gaze determined the man was paying him little attention.

There was something in the back of his throat. A nasogastric tube. Swallowing against it made him want to gag, so Tony pulled it out, coughing as he did.

Tossing the tube aside, he continued his self-diagnostic. Head – definitely concussed, though the headache could partly be dehydration. He had likely been out for a while. All his limbs seemed to be in working order, although the soreness in his shoulders suggested he'd been dragged around by them.

As for his torso, his abdomen was fine, as near as he could tell, though a particularly griminess around his pelvic area was proof he'd likely wet and soiled himself. Apparently, his hosts had been none too concerned with this. His chest…

His chest was where the worst of his pain and discomfort was centralized. Breathing was suppressed, his lungs unable to fully expand due to a disconcerting weight around the lower half of his sternum. Or at least where his sternum was supposed to be. Raising his head, Tony looked down at himself, eyeing the filthy bandages wrapped around his rib-cage until his gaze caught on the wires emerging from beneath.

Breath catching in his throat, he followed the wires to a car battery sitting on a table near the cot he laid upon. _ No, no, that can't be good. Can't be… _ Fingers clumsy, he clawed at the bandages, pulling at them until they revealed his bare chest - and the hole that definitely hadn't been there before.

The missile. He'd gotten a chest full of shrapnel. _ Oh, god, no. _

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," the man said, turning away from the mirror where he'd been shaving.

Tony swallowed, the movements making his dry throat feel like sandpaper. "What did you do to me?" he rasped.

And the man told him. Told how he had saved him but had been unable to get out all the shrapnel trying to crawl its way to his heart, how he had put an electromagnet attached to a goddamn battery in his chest to prolong his life. He explained how most people with his injuries died within a week.

"When I was ordered to save you, I was not so sure I would be able to," the man informed him candidly, what may have been a trace of curiosity in his eyes. "You were very badly off. I'm surprised you are moving around as much as you are. You must be very resilient."

"Something like that," Tony said, accepting a cup of water from the man. Neither the cup nor the water looked any too clean. Tony drank it, anyway.

He was about to ask who had them and what they wanted with him, when there was a commotion at the door. A group of armed men marched in, surrounding another man called Abu Bakaar. The man in charge, presumably, judging by his confident demeanor and boasting tones.

_ "Welcome, to the great Arno Stark. The most famous mass murderer in the history of America," _ he proclaimed. _ "I am honored." _

His fellow captive translated for him, which proved fortuitous. Tony may have understood the man just fine, but Arno wouldn't have. Arno didn't speak any of the languages Tony was hearing so far. To be fair, Tony didn't recall learning them himself.

"He wants you to build a missile. The Jericho," the man repeated in English as Bakaar thrust a photograph at him to show to Tony. "This one."

There was only one answer to that demand, of course, even if he really was Arno. Tony had already known what was happening with Stark weapons, of course. He reflected that he probably should have told Arno that someone in his company was dealing under the table. That was really unreliable of him to fail to mention, very distrusting.

Though, to be fair, at first, Tony hadn't been certain Arno wasn't the one selling the weapons in the first place.

Now, however, he was more certain than ever. And he was about to die for it. It had to be some sort of sad commentary on his life that he had survived and escaped Hydra but was now to die at the hands of a terrorist group and it wasn't even him they'd been after.

Looking his captor in the eye, having a good idea of the consequences soon to follow, Tony gave his response. "I refuse."

#

Nineteen days. Almost three weeks since the convoy in Afghanistan was attacked and Tony had gone missing. Tony was too kind and naive. Pepper should have never let him go over there; she should have made Arno reschedule the demonstration when he'd gotten injured.

Or made him hobble.

Which was uncharitable, she realized. It wasn't Arno's fault, either. It was the fault of nobody but the terrorists who had taken Tony. (Okay, maybe it was a little bit Arno's fault for being the person he was.)

God, poor Tony. He must be so scared. Scared, because Pepper wouldn't consider any bleaker options. Tony couldn't be— He couldn't. He was alive and they would find him and bring him home and she was never letting him out of her sight ever again, Arno could be his own damned body double.

For the moment, they were still maintaining the secret that Tony even existed. As far as the world was concerned, Arno Stark had been the one kidnapped in Afghanistan. It felt unfair, but everyone agreed it was safer for Tony if his captors believed him to actually be their target. Obie had been brought in on it. He'd been understandably upset by the subterfuge, but expressed his gratitude that Arno was safe and concerned that someone else had been taken in his place.

Something about his response to the situation had felt off. Pepper couldn't put a finger on it. It was just… not quite right. Arno hadn't seemed to notice, so perhaps she had imagined it, but it still niggled at her mind, sometimes.

The redhead walked hurriedly out of the office to where Happy waited in the car, anxious to get back to the mansion and do what little she could to locate Tony. At the very least, she could make sure Arno ate and slept. Rhodey was busy helping to coordinate search and rescue. JARVIS was scouring every bit of data he could come across. Everyone was doing their best.

"Potts!" somebody called out to her as she crossed the sidewalk. "Miss Potts!" Pepper turned as a man jogged up to her, blond hair tousled atop his head, wearing an over-sized purple sweatshirt over a ratty t-shirt and jeans.

"I'm sorry, no comments," Pepper told him, assuming he must be a journalist. A lot of them had been approaching her. "We've already released a statement regarding the situation. I have nothing more to add at this time." She turned to continue only for him to reach out to grab her arm.

He let go the moment she whirled on him, but didn't back down. In fact, he took a half step closer, lowering his tone to a near-whisper. "I know Stark wasn't the one that got nabbed," he informed her, blue eyes challenging her to contradict him.

Pepper studied the man more carefully, taking in the details she'd missed or overlooked. Blond hair. Not just a purple sweatshirt, but also a purple shirt and shoes. And hearing aides curled around his ears; also purple.

"You're Clint," Pepper said.

Tony had only really shared a few scattered details about the man, but it was enough to identify him now. There couldn't be too many deaf blonds with an affinity for purple who also knew Tony. Mostly because very few people knew Tony.

A slight lift of his chin was the only confirmation the man offered, but Pepper nodded anyway, and motioned for him to follow her. "Come with me," she told him.

"Who's this, then?" Happy asked as they settled into the backseat, giving the newcomer a wary once-over in the rear-view mirror.

"A friend of Tony's," the man replied, quashing any lingering doubts Pepper may have had regarding his identity.

"Oh, so you do care what happens to the guy," Happy said, putting the car into drive.

"Happy," Pepper admonished.

Clint had narrowed his eyes at the back of the other man's head, but turned to address Pepper. "Do you know anything?" he asked. He didn't look very hopeful.

Pepper shook her head apologetically. "Not much," she said.

Clint nodded and dropped his gaze. He spent the rest of the drive in silence, alternating between staring at his hands and the passing scenery. He didn't seem to be taking in either.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	15. Building Blocks

**Chapter Fifteen: Building Blocks**

#

Arno had met Pepper and their unexpected guest in the entryway, having received a head's up from the woman while they were on the way. For several minutes the two men stared each other down. Pepper left them to it, shaking her head as she continued into the house. The archer was taller than Arno had expected him to be, somehow, which was probably odd since Tony hadn't offered much about the man other than 'blond hair' and 'loves purple.'

"You really do look just like him," the blond spoke first, breaking their little stalemate.

"Technically, I'm older," Arno drawled, "so, Tony looks like me." It wasn't as playful as it might have been in other circumstances. Granted, it wasn't meant to be.

"You know, I'm getting the impression that you've got some sort of beef with me," Clint said, crossing a pair of impressive arms over his chest. "Which is kinda odd since I'm not the one who got Tony kidnapped by terrorists."

The billionaire let out an incredulous scoff. "Excuse you? You think this is _ my _ fault?"

"Yeah, I do. If you didn't have Tony waltzing around in your shoes when you can't be bothered to go about your own damn business, he would have never been taken in the first place," the archer accused. "He was doing fine before he met you. He was safe."

"Right. You know, those are some bold words for a person who left him alone."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't know?" Arno demanded, tone full of sarcasm. "Wait, of course, you don't. Why would you? You wanna know how I found him? The state he was in? He hadn't slept in days, or eaten properly. He was spiraling so badly, JARVIS was worried. JARVIS told me where he was because Tony had no one else to pick him up and put him back together. He was so out of it, he couldn't think straight, and where were you? Huh? Where were you _ then _ that you think you can blame _ me _ for what's happening to him, now?"

To his credit, Clint looked stricken by his words, features paling as Arno continued.

"I don't need you to tell me shit I already know. I already know I should have protected him better, that I should've just cancelled the demonstration when I couldn't go myself – I know that. But at least I never claimed to be his friend then left him to fend for himself," Arno declared.

"That's not—" the blond started to protest, only to cut himself off and drop his gaze. His voice turned soft, resigned. "That wasn't my intention. I never… I didn't mean to do that."

"I never wanted him to get hurt, either," Arno told him, "and I am making sure everything is done to bring him back."

Clint gave a sharp nod, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides before he looked up, determined gaze meeting Arno's. "I want to help. However I can."

"I'll show you what little we have," Arno agreed, motioning for him to follow.

They made their way to the stairs and down into the workshop. The billionaire was leading the way towards the computers when an inquiring beep sounded from the charging ports at the far end of the room. In the next moment, an excited bot was trundling towards them at a breakneck pace, clicking and beeping and whirring as it moved.

"U?" Clint asked, a happy grin breaking across the man's face. "Hey! Hey, buddy! Just look at you––I missed you."

U had proceeded to take in every inch of the man, carding through his hair with his pincers and tugging at his clothes. It was the same way that the bot greeted Tony when he'd been away for longer than usual––a habit the other two bots had started to pick up. In turn, Clint was stroking along the bot's arm with one hand as he signed and finger-spelled in front of his camera with the other. DUM-E rolled over to investigate what was happening while Butterfingers watched from a distance.

"It's gonna be okay, you'll see," Clint was telling U, pausing to sign something with both hands that Arno didn't understand because he hadn't learned the language himself. Yet. "We'll bring your dad back. Just you wait."

DUM-E had joined them and Clint turned to greet the newcomer, though he left a hand on U's strut, thumb stroking the metal soothingly. That was about the time Arno started to feel less leery of the man. He treated the bots like they were sentient beings. In Arno's experience? Anyone who treated the bots well was a pretty decent person. Arno was glad. Tony could use all the people in his corner that he could get.

#

Previously, Tony's least favorite torture had been isolation. He had hated it. Being trapped, nothing to do, no one to speak with, the silence growing ever more oppressive. It had gotten to him every time. His handlers had not been pleased.

Having his head and shoulders plunged into a tub of filthy water over and over had quickly surpassed isolation to become number one on his list of things never to experience again. Baths were going to be a problem in the future. Possibly showers, as well. Assuming his captors didn't end up drowning him.

It didn't help that the water sloshing down his chest kept causing him to get shocked by the battery literally keeping him alive.

Tony could not have said how long they kept at it. It could have been days. It felt like weeks, months, maybe. He had started to drift in and out around the second or third day, losing time, only to come back to himself in the cave where they kept him with Yinsen.

"Do you remember what we were talking about before?" the other man would ask some of these times. To which Tony's answer was always a no; he couldn't remember. His last thought had been that he wouldn't be able to hold his breath long enough.

No matter how much time had passed, it still seemed that it had taken far too little before Tony could feel himself breaking. He clung to the first half-baked idea that came to him. "I'll do it!" he had choked out, coughing and sputtering, schematics and blue light finding a home in his mind's eye. "I'll do what you ask."

Which was a lie. Of course, it was a lie. But it still felt like losing, like giving in too easily.

Then again, Tony had long since learned the most successful acts of defiance were those dressed up as obedience.

So, Tony did what he did best: he took apart weapons and put them together again. His fascination with the arc reactor had paid off and he was able to modify the plans to miniaturize it, using it to replace the car battery in powering the electromagnet in his chest. Tony wasn't too worried about how their captors would react to him building something to keep the shrapnel out of his heart. They'd undoubtedly appreciate his increased efficiency––at least initially. The next stage of the gambit would be trickier to pull off.

Yinsen was a capable assistant. He was a brilliant man, perceptive and intuitive. They had quickly built a camaraderie, of sorts. Tony was certain they would have been friends had they met some other way.

"Tell me, Stark," Yinsen asked one day as they worked, "do you have a family?"

Tony glanced up from what he was doing, then shook his head. "No, ah, no family. It's just me."

The older man gave a thoughtful hum, although he sounded unsurprised by the answer. "Sounds lonely."

Tony looked up to watch him for a moment as he considered his response. Was he lonely? Not so much recently, but… "Sometimes," he conceded. "I have a few friends. What about you? Do you have a family?"

"I do," Yinsen confirmed, tone warming a bit. "I will see them again when I leave this place."

"Well, then, let's make sure that happens," said Tony. He continued working in the quiet that followed until he felt the weight of Yinsen's gaze upon him. Dark eyes regarded him calmly, the man's expression indecipherable to Tony. Had he said something he shouldn't have? Was he meant to understand the meaning behind the look?

After a moment, Yinsen offered him a small smile and turned back to his own task. "Yes," he agreed, "let us do that."

#

The final preparations for their escape plan ended up being a rush job after Raza, the man above Bakaar, issued an ultimatum: one day to finish the missile they weren't even building. It had literally become do or die. Dying in a dusty cave just wasn't something Tony wanted to do. He had to get Yinsen back to his family. Tony himself needed to get back to his friends.

He'd escaped Hydra. After a lifetime of conditioning and mistreatment, Tony had escaped from _ Hydra _. He wasn't about to let the Ten Rings be his end.

Tony refused.

The armor he'd designed, that they'd been building instead of the missile, was as complete as it was going to be given their circumstances. Yinsen helped Tony get into it, typed in the command to initialize the needed software to run the suit. But their captors were paying closer attention, now. They knew that something was up. There were men at the door.

"We need more time," Yinsen stated out loud after the first wave of guards had forced open the door and set off the explosive that had been attached to it. The older man glanced back at the monitor, at the slowly moving progress bar, before turning back to meet Tony's eyes. "I'll go buy you some."

"Yinsen, no!" Tony protested as the man darted away. "Stick to the plan! _ Yinsen!" _ The sounds of gunfire and shouting led away from their holding chamber. Tony was helpless to do anything more than listen as he waited for the suit to finish initializing. He put on the helmet and counted away the seconds in his head.

There was a rush of satisfaction in having their tormentors flee before him, the suit working well despite the limited supplies and tools they'd had available to them. The more mercenaries Tony took out, the closer he got to the entrance of the caves, the more confident he became in the plan's success. All he needed to do was find Yinsen and get them out and past whatever forces awaited them outside.

Only, that wasn't how it turned out.

When he finally came upon Yinsen, the man had already fallen, Raza standing by with more threats. Tony took down the terrorist with a well-aimed blast to collapse some of the cavern atop the man. Uncaring whether Raza was unconscious or dead, Tony turned his attention to Yinsen, lifting the face-plate as he did so.

"Yinsen, oh, god," Tony murmured, taking in the man's injuries. "Hey, stay with me, alright? I'm going to get you out of here. I'll get you back to your family."

Yinsen shook his head weakly, breathing increasingly labored. "No. This was––" he coughed wetly–– "this was always the plan. My family… They are dead. I'm going to see them now."

"No! I can't leave you here. I said I'd get us both out."

"You must," Yinsen told him. "Just… promise me, Mechanic."

Tony's breath caught in his throat, a thrill of shock jolting through him. Yinsen _ knew? _

"Don't… Don't waste your life."

"I won't."

"And tell Stark… Tell him––" Yinsen's words broke off, a final sigh rattling past his lips.

Tony felt tears streak down his face. "I'll tell him," he vowed hoarsely, "I'll tell him what's happening here. I promise. Goodbye, Yinsen. Thank you."

Dropping the face-plate back into place, Tony rose to his feet and turned towards the entrance––towards freedom––once more. He dragged in a breath and blew it back out. There'd be time to mourn, later. Right now, he had to escape in order to keep his word.

Tony drew in another breath, fury rising up to take the place of his grief. It flowed through him like a separate entity, filling him up, consuming him. He could almost feel as it took over the reins and––

The next thing Tony knew, he was crashing into the desert floor, sand spraying up and around him with the impact. Well, impacts; he sort of bounced a few times. A few pieces of the armor came off entirely, several others came loose. The whole process was about as unpleasant as it sounded.

Groaning aloud, Tony lay there for a moment, trying to take stock of the present situation. Pretty much everything ached. The arc reactor in his chest was certainly protesting the rough treatment of his person. He could feel bruises already forming along his limbs and torso. On the plus side, his head felt relatively fine, so he probably wasn't concussed.

He had lost time, again. From the moment he had walked away from Yinsen's body until he'd crashed into the sand was all a big blank. Obviously, he still moved around, even talked, during the blackouts he'd been experiencing. Yinsen's final words to him were proof of this. There was no other way he could have known to address him as 'Mechanic' even if he had guessed he wasn't really Arno Stark. Tony had to have told him––he just could not remember doing so.

"Problem for another time," he murmured to himself. He pushed himself upright, fumbling with the various buckles and clasps that held what remained of the suit in place. It was only a matter of time before the Ten Rings sent somebody after him. There was no way he was doing them the favor of staying put.

With any luck, the bad guys weren't the only ones looking for him. Tony had to believe that Arno hadn't forgotten about him, even after all the weeks that had already passed. People were looking for him. He just had to make sure the right ones found him first.

Pulling the remnants of the meager flight suit over his head, Tony began his long trek through the sand.

#

They sat restlessly together in the helicopter as it traveled a search pattern over the desert below. The loud churning of the blades made conversation impractical, even with headphones, so the officers remained quiet. Or maybe they were each unconsciously trying to avoid distraction as their eyes scoured the endless sand.

Weeks of searching had already passed, turning up nothing. Then, just the day before, there had been a huge explosion––a weapons cache near a maze of caverns that somebody had blown to kingdom come. For his part, Rhodey had to believe it was Tony, and if it were, that meant the man had rescued himself and was now trudging through the desert waiting for them to pick him up.

He'd be damned if he let the man down.

"There!" the pilot called out suddenly, pointing at a waving figure moving across a dune.

Rhodey exchanged a quick look with the blond before the man brought the bird down. The chopper had barely touched the ground before Rhodey was jumping out, he and several of the other search and rescuers running towards the man now kneeling in the sand.

It was him. It was really Tony. Sunburned and blistered––certainly worse for wear––but alive.

"How was the fun-vee?" Rhodey couldn't help but ask as he drew near. Tony let out a broken laugh and Rhodey was finally close enough to touch the man, to clasp his arm and cup the side of his head. "Next time you ride with me, okay?"

"Deal," Tony rasped out, going readily when Rhodey pulled him in for a hug. "Thanks for coming for me."

"Always, Tones," Rhodey murmured so only the brunet could hear. He needed the man to believe it, to know that he wasn't just important because of his resemblance to Arno. "I'll always come if you need me. And I'm not the only one."

He wasn't sure if his words were sinking in or not. All he knew was that Tony was clinging to him, desperate in that way only trauma could make a person, trembling slightly in his hold. Making sure Tony knew his importance could come later. For now, Rhodey was going to get him out of the sun and to the medical attention he desperately needed.

They'd finally found him.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	16. Homecoming

**_A/N: _**_Just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge and thank each of you who have reviewed, favorited, and subscribed to this story-I greatly appreciate each one of you. It means a lot to me. Thank you so much. Hope you're all staying well and safe. -ACN_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Homecoming**

#

Tony was not a fan of being in medical. Strictly speaking, he had nothing against medical treatment. Being within any sort of medical _ location _ was low on his list of favorite places to be, however, and sinking lower. They reminded him far too much of, well, rather unpleasant moments from his childhood.

Unfortunately, he'd been given little choice in the matter and even he agreed it was for good reason. After being plucked from the desert, Tony was suffering severe dehydration that was not at all aided by the third-degree sunburns across his shoulders and upper arms. His left shoulder had been partially dislocated during his crash landing (he felt that one) and he had a hairline fracture in the same forearm. On top of all of this, the area around the reactor was infected.

Oh, and he had pneumonia, of all things.

Needless to say, Rhodey had sided with the base's Chief Medical Officer in insisting Tony stay there in the infirmary for at least a couple of days. More than anything Tony wanted to refuse. He let Rhodey convince him to stay put.

The medical personnel had finished their tests while Rhodey was out making a few calls. He'd promised to return as soon as possible. In the meantime, Tony was as settled as he was going to get––and doing his level best not to have a freak-out. Just as he was about to call for the nurse to ask them for something, anything, the door opened and a familiar blond head poked into the room.

"Hey," the man spoke softly (though probably not as quietly as intended), words couched in a faint drawl as he approached Tony's gurney. "Thought the human disaster shtick was mine." He offered an uncertain smile, head bowed as he fidgeted just out of reach.

"Clint," Tony breathed.

"Hey, Tones."

_ "Clint!" _

And then the blond's arms were around him, probably in part to keep him from launching out of the cart and pulling out an IV or something. Tony didn't care. He clung to the archer as best he could, fingers tangling in the back of the BDU he was wearing. They had never really hugged before but that didn't stop the embrace from feeling perfectly right.

"You're here," Tony choked out, trying to regain control of his breathing. "You came."

"Took leave the second I heard you were missing," Clint told him, carefully letting Tony go so he could sit back. He was only partially successful since Tony tangled a hand in his sleeve instead. "I, uh, I was piloting the chopper, actually. Sorry I had to wait so long to come see you. Didn't want to jeopardize your cover."

The brunet gave a snort. "Not really caring about the cover at the moment, but probably a good call," he said. "I'm just glad to see you."

"Me, too, I just… God, Tony, I'm so sorry it took _ this _ for me to make time to see you, again," said Clint.

"That's not entirely your fault," Tony protested. "I made it pretty clear I'm not too thrilled about where you work."

"I'm still sorry. Especially since you ended up alone. I didn't think about how that might be for you. I'm sorry."

Tony frowned at the man. "You talk like I haven't spent most of my life looking out for myself," he said. "Don't believe everything you hear. Who were you talking to, anyway? Arno has no room to be pointing fingers. If he didn't have JARVIS and Pepper, he would have starved to death down in the workshop years ago."

"Yeah, fine, maybe you've got a point," Clint allowed with a small smirk but quickly sobered again, "but you shouldn't have to be, Tones. You should never have to be alone unless you want to be."

"I know that," Tony said a tad too quickly. "How long are you here?"

The archer graciously took the change in subject. "I'm taking the same ride out of here as you," Clint told him. He reached to put his hand over Tony's where he still held his sleeve. "Not leaving you until I know you're safe again."

And Tony could have offered any number of protests to that. Objectively speaking, he was better at looking after himself than Clint. He was currently surrounded by military personnel and Rhodey would be coming back at any moment.

The truth was that he'd have preferred to have Clint at his side, anyway, so he voiced none of them.

#

Tony sat impatiently as the ramp of the aircraft lowered to the tarmac, trying to keep his fidgeting to a minimum (though, that was more out of habit than anything). The sling supporting his left arm was digging uncomfortably against the healing blisters along his shoulder. Mostly, it itched––terribly. Rhodey stood just behind him, but if the man really thought Tony was about to let him push him off the plane in the wheelchair, he was very mistaken.

He rose to his feet as the ramp met the ground, although his eyes were focused on the two people waiting for them. Pepper and Happy gazed back, seeming to be cataloging his visible injuries as well as those hidden beneath his suit. Maybe it ought to have been more disconcerting than it was. Tony just found it a bit comforting to know they cared.

"No," Tony declared as EMTs approached with a gurney. "Get that out of here––it's not happening."

Rhodey waved them away even as he remained at Tony's elbow while he stepped down the ramp. They dutifully wheeled away again and Tony turned his attention back to putting one step in front of the other without appearing as broken up as he was.

"What's this, then?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of Pepper. "Are those tears for your long-lost boss I see?"

"Happy tears," the redhead quipped back. "I hate job hunting."

_ God _, he'd missed her.

He allowed himself to be escorted to the waiting car, where they bid Rhodey farewell until that evening. Pepper climbed into the back with him as Happy got into the driver's seat. The woman gave Tony's hand a quick squeeze.

"Drive us to the hospital, please, Happy," she requested softly.

Tony shook his head. "No," he contradicted, talking over Pepper's protest, "I had enough of doctors and med staff poking at me back in Bagram. I just wanna go home. It's… It's been a long time. Please."

"Sure thing, boss," Happy told him from the front. Pepper didn't seem entirely pleased with the situation, but she acquiesced just as easily. Either way, she hadn't removed her hand from atop Tony's, as though needing the physical contact to assure herself that he was really there.

In all fairness, Tony was feeling the same need.

The drive out to the Malibu house was undergone quietly. Everything outside the window still looked the same yet somehow so very different. How could things be the same and different simultaneously? It wasn't logical.

All things told, his experience couldn't be considered that awful, could it? Maybe if he had really been Arno, but Tony––Tony had been trained to withstand torture and mistreatment. Surely that must mean things weren't as bad as they would have been otherwise. Didn't it?

"Tony?" Pepper's voice cut into his thoughts.

He looked up to find her giving him a concerned look, her brows drawn slightly together. It took him another moment to realize that hadn't been the first time she'd called his name. A moment after that, he noticed the car was parked in front of the mansion and Happy was also watching him with worry in his gaze.

"Sorry," Tony said, not even sure just what he was apologizing for. Accidentally ignoring them? Inconveniencing them? His thoughts? "Sorry, I just… I was thinking."

"It's okay," Pepper told him.

"Yeah, boss," Happy agreed. "Not a problem. It's good to have you back."

"Thanks," Tony murmured.

"Let's get you inside," said Pepper, giving his hand a final squeeze.

From the outside, the house looked the same, untouched. It wasn't even really Tony's house, yet it felt wrong. As though what he'd undergone should have somehow altered the place he called home. Stepping into the familiar entryway was almost surreal––then Arno was there, gripping the elbow of his good arm, his other hand fluttering in the air as though uncertain where to land.

"Tony," the billionaire exclaimed. "God, _ Tony. _ I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I should've–– I mean, if I had known, I would've…" Words apparently escaping the other man, he opted for pulling Tony into a hug, careful of his injuries.

And wasn't that a novel experience? So many people had been touching him. Not that they hadn't touched him before––Arno, in particular, was a tactile person––but never this much or often. It was… nice. He wondered if Arno also found physical contact to be grounding. Was that the reason he was so tactile himself?

"Guess Afghanistan was a little worse than a pack of rapid reporters," Tony remarked.

Arno gave an amused snort, then pulled away. His sharp blue gaze scanned over Tony, then, undoubtedly cataloging his current condition. They had never looked so unalike before; Tony knew because he had spent nearly half an hour in front of the bathroom mirror at the Air Base taking in his own battered, too thin form.

Only after the man had given him a thorough once-over did Arno's gaze move back to Tony's chest where the arc reactor was concealed by the layers he was wearing. His eyes ticked back up to Tony's face almost guiltily and he looked a little sheepish. "Rhodey, uh, he may have mentioned… you know," he explained.

"We can head down to the shop and I can show you?" Tony offered, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Only if you don't mind," Arno rushed to reassure, despite his obvious curiosity.

"A chance to show how I've outdone the great Arno Stark? Of course, I don't mind," Tony teased before growing serious again. "It'd be nice to get back to something normal. I miss the bots. And you, too, J," he added, tilting his head back to address the ceiling.

"The feeling is mutual, Master Tony," JARVIS promptly replied. "You have been deeply missed these past months."

Tony wasn't about to let that sentiment get him choked up. He _ wasn't. _ (He totally did, but Arno and Pepper both were kind enough not to mention it.)

"While you guys do that, why don't I order us all some food?" Pepper offered.

"That'd be great, Pep, thank you," said Arno.

"Order enough for Clint, too?" Tony requested. "He said he'd come by after he finished checking in with his work."

"Of course," the woman agreed, offering a warm smile. She made her way towards the kitchen where the paper menus she preferred were kept.

The men made their way down to the workshop where Tony spent a solid fifteen minutes being fawned over by the bots. DUM-E brought him three different mugs (one of which still held cold coffee), a stale bag of chips, an unopened bag of dried blueberries Arno hadn't known they had, and his favorite fire extinguisher. Butterfingers examined him over and over, beeping sadly each time she came back to his arm and the healing cuts on his face. U grabbed hold of his shirt with his pincers and refused to let go.

"Hey. Hey, it's alright," Tony reassured them softly. "Thanks, DUM-E. I'm back, now. I'll be okay––I've really only one hand to hold cups, DUM. Aw, B, no. No… Don't be sad. U, I'm alright, really. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be fine, you guys."

"They have not stopped waiting for you to come through the door since you left," Arno told him, voice soft. "There were a few times, I would come down here and one of them would think I was you for a moment. Until they realized I wasn't. It was… It was hard to see."

"I thought about them, everyday. About them, JARVIS, this house… you. There were a couple times, I almost wished I'd never met you, but then I was nearly glad it was me, instead. Because if it had been you in that cave––you were never trained to endure the things I've gone through. If you hadn't hurt yourself that morning…"

Tony wasn't entirely sure when he had trailed off in what he was saying, but it seemed that several minutes passed, in which time he stroked and patted each of the bots in turn. From across the room, he could feel Arno's gaze resting upon him. It was somehow reassuring to know the other man didn't have an immediate response; that he, too, had to contemplate what to say.

"For the record, I would rather it had been me, even if I would have died without undergoing whatever hell you had instead of a childhood," the billionaire finally replied.

A choked sound escaped from Tony's mouth, too sudden to hold back. How had he ever been so fortunate as to meet and become friends with Arno Stark? The billionaire was too kind of him, too trusting. Arno had welcomed Tony into his life and treated him as an equal from the start and how had Tony repaid him?

With distrust. Arno gave him access to virtually everything concerning his life and his company, but Tony still hadn't offered hardly anything of his own life. Just vague references and incomplete details. Worse, his habit of keeping things close to his chest had now come back to bite them.

"Someone is selling your weapons on the black market," Tony told the man.

Arno blinked, caught off-guard, then frowned as he fully processed the information. "No," he denied firmly, shaking his head. "Nobody is selling my weapons anywhere they aren't supposed to go. I would kno––"

"They are," Tony contradicted as he moved towards the other man. "I saw the logo on the missile before it went off, on all the crates and the munitions they had stockpiled. And I… I knew before we even met that Stark weapons have been sold under the table for years. Since your father was alive."

"What? What do yo–– How could you possibly..?"

"I should have told you, but I… I wasn't really sure you weren't involved somehow, and I thought that if you were, it was hardly any of my business. I mean, when we met, I was a hacker and a thief. Didn't exactly have the moral high ground," Tony tried to explain, stopping across from the man and dropping his gaze. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, Arno didn't say anything, though it was clear he was a shaken by the revelation because of the unsteadiness of his breathing. Finally, tone soft, he questioned, "What do you mean you knew from before? H-how long before? How did you know, Tony?"

Tony couldn't bring himself to lift his gaze although he could feel Arno's eyes focused upon him. He drew in a breath of his own as his hands came together, his thumb pressing hard into his left palm. An evasive answer wouldn't be good enough, this time. He owed Arno more than that.

"Much of my adolescence was spent taking apart and improving upon weapons and tech," he said, somehow managing to keep his tone even, "Stark weapons and tech."

"For who?" Arno asked.

"They're a secret anti-governmental group working inside one of this country's top-secret intelligence agencies," Tony replied, finally raising his eyes, expression pained. "Please don't make me say their name."

"Tony," the other man told him, voice firm but not unkind, "I need you to tell me who. Who else do you know that has my weapons? Who… Where did you come from?"

There would be no more secrets after this, Tony knew. If he answered, now, he would have to tell all. He would have to share more than he had with Clint. Part of him knew it would be better not to have this secret between Arno and himself. After everything, Arno deserved to know.

But the name clung in his throat, the very thought of the people that had brought him up filling him with unease. It was as though just thinking of the organization could summon them forth. Like speaking of a devil but possibly more evil.

No more secrets.

It would be better. He had to believe that. Arno had treated him more fairly than he had ever deserved. The man had taken every detail he did know in his stride and had never once condemned him for things that were clearly in the wrong.

The rest would somehow follow if Tony could spit out just one word.

"Hydra."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	17. Heart-to-Heart

**Chapter Seventeen: Heart-to-Heart**

#

For a long moment, it seemed to Tony, the workshop was completely silent. Everything that was to follow hinged upon Arno's response. Would the billionaire even know what Hydra was? They hadn't been widely known even back in WWII, the military having kept the organization's existence classified to the point that Hydra was but a vaguely menacing footnote in history. Hydra had been quietly biding their time ever since.

"I'm sorry," Arno finally said, "did you just say 'Hydra'? As in, World War II and Captain America, evil-Nazis Hydra? That Hydra?"

Tony let out the breath he had been unintentionally holding. "That Hydra," he confirmed.

_ "That _ Hydra was defeated in 1945," the billionaire stated before Tony could say more, although there was a trace of uncertainty in his tone, "when their leader was brought down by Captain America and the rest of his team went around Europe rooting them out."

"That's not exactly how things turned out. Their numbers were greatly reduced, but since you do know about them, I'm sure you know their slogan."

"'Cut off one head, two more will take its place,'" recited Arno.

"Exactly," said Tony. "They were never fully stopped, they just got better at hiding themselves."

"How long were you with them?"

"Twenty-one years."

"Twen––" Arno began only to cut himself off as he quickly did the math. "You said we're the same age. You cropped up six years ago, if you were with them for twenty-one years, then that means… You were a baby."

Tony gave a grim smile. "Turns out my father's idea of loyalty was to give his infant son over to the fanatics he worked for," he said.

"And your mom?"

"Dead. According to old news sources, she was found murdered about two weeks after I've been told I was born," Tony replied.

"Jesus, Tony," said Arno, looking a little pale. "And they… Did you have any sort of normal childhood?"

"What exactly constitutes normal? Seriously, because I don't know. But considering pretty much all of my handlers viewed me as a tool rather than a kid, my guess is no. I was taught the things they wanted me to know, punished if I learned too slowly––sometimes, I was punished just so I wouldn't forget my place. I was never… Those twenty-one years, I never once thought of myself as a child. I always knew I was an asset, and not even an especially important one."

"Tony, that is horrifying. My god, that is––how are you this well-adjusted?"

"Is that what I am?" Tony asked wryly.

_ "Shockingly _ so," said Arno. "I mean, my dad was just hard to please and emotionally unavailable and people think I'm a mess, but you… Tony, sometimes I forget I haven't known you my whole life. Believe me, you have ample reason to be a lot more messed up than you are. And that was before what you've just come back from. God, I should have never let you go."

"That's not on you," the younger man argued. "I wanted to go. What happened isn't your fault. If anything, it's mine for not making sure you knew about the black market sales of your weapons."

"You know what? Let's not play the blame game," the billionaire decided. "Mistakes were made and you just went through hell, now we'll just deal with things from here on out. And we'll be honest with each other. Right?"

Tony had to take a moment to swallow back the lump trying to form in his throat. "Yeah," he agreed. "Arno, I'm really sor––"

"Nope," Arno interrupted. "We're also done with apologies. So, unless there's some other big important thing you've been keeping from me..?"

Tony started to shake his head, then immediately stopped. There were several other details to his story he probably ought to fill in, and would when he felt a little less raw. But there was one immensely important thing he needed to tell Arno now unless he wished to let it put a rift between them in the future.

"What is it?" Arno asked, easily reading the enormity of the next truth from whatever expression Tony had on his face. "You can't seriously have anything worse than what you already told me. Tony? T, look––you know you don't have to tell me everything, right? You're allowed to have secrets. Of course you are; we both are. I just think if it's something likely to come o––"

"Your parents were murdered."

"––ut, then… I'm sorry, what?"

"Your parents were murdered," Tony repeated, heart hammering against the arc reactor as he struggled to keep his tone even without also sounding unfeeling. "December 16th––"

"My father was an alcoholic," countered Arno, words a bit strained. "It was nighttime. The roads were slick. He wrapped their car around a tree."

"It wasn't an accident."

"You're telling me that Hydra––an organization that's no longer supposed to forget––had my parents killed."

Lips pressing together in a grim line, Tony nodded, gaze falling to his hands.

"Why?"

"According to the files, your father had been deemed a threat."

"And my mom?" Arno's voice had taken on a slight rasp, emotion he was attempting to keep down leaking out.

"She was just collateral damage," Tony replied quietly. "I'm sorry."

"'Just'? She was 'just'..? My mom had never been _ just _ anything," the billionaire snarled, tone abruptly rising, "and for you to suggest she was simply _ collateral _––"

"Arno, that is not what I meant," Tony protested.

"Well, that's how it came out!" Arno snapped.

Tony winced. Silence settled over the workshop like a dense fog. He tried to remember the last time things had ever been this tense between Arno and himself. The answer was never. Never had they been at such odds. Tony had miscalculated.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered uselessly. He turned to hurry back upstairs.

Behind him, Arno gave a testy-sounding sigh. "Tony!" he called after him.

Tony didn't stop, pushing his way through the door. Before it could close again, he heard something crashing across the workshop. Tony didn't turn back to find out what. He fled upstairs to his room.

#

He'd messed up. Arno knew he had messed up, but in his defense, it was a lot to process. Hydra was supposed to be relegated to history, not alive and well and raising kids to be… whatever the hell Tony was. A tool? Or would it be more accurate to assume he was meant to be some sort of weapon? And now it was Arno keeping something from Tony.

At least, he was pretty sure Tony didn't know about _ that. _

Then, there was the thing with his parents. His mother had been wonderful; a kind, loving woman who'd made him feel cherished. Howard––his father––had been admittedly a little distant, as though he didn't know what to do with an offspring. They had seldom gotten along but Arno had never doubted that the man loved him as best he knew how. Arno had certainly loved both his parents. To learn after all these years that they had been murdered…

It was no wonder he had taken the revelation badly. Of course he had lashed out. And he'd taken it out on Tony, who Arno did not for a moment believe deserved it. God, could his timing on that have been any worse?

Once he'd managed to shove all his messy emotions into a box to deal with later (i.e. never), Arno made his way up from the workshop. Pepper gave him a look somewhere between concern and censure, gesturing towards the stairs with the correct assumption he was looking for Tony. Since neither the food nor Clint seemed to have arrived yet, less time than he'd expected must have passed.

"Hey, Marty*, look––" Arno began, tapping on Tony's half-open door as he looked inside, only to find the room vacant. "Tony?"

"If I may, sir," JARVIS spoke up, "Master Tony is currently in the guest bathroom."

"Why is he using the guest bathroom?"

"I wouldn't precisely say that he is using it, in the traditional sense of the word."

Frowning up at the ceiling––and really, he blamed Tony for that habit; JARVIS wasn't _ in _ the ceiling––Arno backed out of Tony's room and made his way towards the bathroom set aside for guests. The door was shut, so he knocked. When there was no answer, and trusting JARVIS' assertion that Tony wasn't doing his business or anything of the like, he tried the handle to find the door was unlocked.

"Tony?" Arno called as he pushed it open and stepped inside.

He didn't see the other man, at first. Then again, he hadn't been expecting to find Tony sitting on the floor of the shower with his back pressed to the corner and knees pulled up to his chest. Crossing the tile floor, Arno paused a moment before tugging open the glass door. Tony didn't move, his elbows still propped against his knees as his hands curled over his head.

"Why are you sitting in the shower?" asked Arno, looking around as though the room itself might offer up an answer. It did not.

"Closet was too big," Tony murmured quietly.

Arno's attention snapped back to the man. "The closet was..? Oh, god, are you––" he broke off, horrified by the implications, by the realization that Tony sitting in here was some sort of self-punishment. What he must have gone through for something to be conditioned into him years after the fact. "Okay, we have surpassed the daily quota of horrifying things you can say to me. Three days ago, you were stumbling through the desert. This is not where you should be resting. Come on. Up you get."

He stepped into the shower and took Tony's arm, helping him up to his feet. Tony let him, leaning back against the shower wall once he was upright. Miserable brown eyes found Arno's face.

"I'm sorry," Tony told him again.

"Hey, no," Arno responded before the other man could continue. "I don't––I'm not mad at you, Tony. It's not your fault. And I know you didn't mean any harm by keeping things from me. I wish you hadn't, especially the weapons thing, but I get it. Why you did it. Mostly, you just wanted to protect yourself. No one can blame you for that, T. But I also think, in part, you were also trying to protect me? At least a bit?"

Tony studied his features with that same wariness he hadn't really shown since the first few days after they'd become acquainted. It hurt to see, even if Arno knew he deserved it. After a moment, Tony gave a jerky nod.

Arno offered a reassuring smile. "I know you didn't mean for me to get hurt, Tony, anymore than I meant for you to get hurt. And maybe we could have prevented what you've just had to go through, and maybe not. We can't change the past. So, we'll just work on figuring things out for the future. Right?"

"Yeah," Tony agreed a bit more readily, finally allowing himself to be coaxed out of the shower (for which Arno was internally grateful).

"I'm sorry I shouted at you."

"It's okay."

"No. No, Tony, it's not okay," Arno insisted. "You've just come back from hell, then bared your freaking soul, and I practically bit your head off. You don't deserve that."

"You were upset," Tony said as they maneuvered out of the bathroom and down the hall. He turned towards the stairs rather than let Arno steer him back towards his room.

"That's not an excuse, Tony. I really am sorry."

"Well, I'm sorry, too," the younger man countered.

"I know," the billionaire replied, "you already told me. I forgive you, okay? Water under the bridge."

"I forgive you, too," Tony said.

Arno gave him a warm little smile. "Thanks, T."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	18. Etiquette

**Chapter Eighteen: Etiquette**

#

Once downstairs, Tony followed the sound of voices to the kitchen and dining room, Arno trailing behind him. Clint had arrived at some point, which meant that either he had wrapped up what he'd needed to do faster than anticipated or Tony had spent far longer curled up on the floor of the shower than he thought. Maybe Arno would be willing to keep that little detail between the two of them. Really, it was fine. It wasn't as though he made a habit of shutting himself into small, enclosed spaces or anything.

_ "Hey. Everything alright?" _ Clint asked him, calloused hands moving fluidly through the air. The blond shot Arno a suspicious look over Tony's shoulder. Whatever expression the billionaire gave in response made the archer's eyes narrow.

_ "I'm fine," _ Tony answered tiredly, continuing aloud, "You guys don't have to tiptoe around me. It's been a rough few months. I just… I'd just like things to go back to normal, you know?"

Clint's expression softened as he focused back on Tony. "Sure thing, Tones," he said, then waved at the counter. "We've got food."

"I ordered Thai," Pepper spoke up, by way of explaining the copious amount of food on the counter, "but Clint brought pizza with him."

"And their boneless wings and cheesy bread stuff," the blond added, "and a salad for Pepper because I know she likes that stuff."

"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you for thinking of me," Pepper told him with a warm smile.

"How did I become the third favorite here?" asked Arno, affecting a betrayed tone.

"It's the dimples," Tony and Clint responded in unison. They exchanged grins and high-fived over the counter.

Arno glanced between the two of them, a protest clearly on his tongue before he easily relented. "Yeah, okay, I can buy that. _ You _ actually have dimples."

The archer gave an amused snort as he accepted a plate from Pepper and pulled one of the pizza boxes towards himself. "You actually try to pull that?" he asked with an amused glance at Tony. "Dude, you don't _ have _ dimples."

"Not that you know of," Tony smirked, pulling a takeout container to himself and peering inside before digging in with a spoon.

Clint paused with a folded slice of pizza halfway to his mouth, eyebrows arched in interest. _ "Do _ you have dimples? Where do you––"

"Pass the pad thai," Pepper requested loudly, voice overly polite and a somewhat pained smile on her face.

Tony, Arno, and Clint gave her looks of varying surprise before breaking out into laughter. Arno passed her the requested dish while Clint pressed his forehead against the back of the hand still holding his pizza. Tony chortled into his rice.

Pepper let out a long-suffering sigh. _ "Boys," _ she muttered, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself. The other three laughed even harder.

The tension that had filled the room eased with their collective mirth, a much needed release. They hadn't quite achieved normal––certainly not what had counted for the normal of before––but it did feel like the first step towards a new normal. All they had to do was keep moving forward. Together.

What a novel idea for a group of people who'd had to learn to be self-reliant.

#

_ Weapons fire filled his ears. Young airmen––too young, even younger than himself––were shouting, telling him to stay put. Except that he was the one firing at them, facing them from the far end of the indoor firing range, the weapon heavy and unwieldy in his small hands... _

_ He stood inside the chair room, waiting for the Asset to be brought in and wiped so he could perform maintenance on the arm. _

_ "Fire, 492," the handler commanded as the professor's gaze burned into him from the observation deck, "do not miss." _

_ Anthony sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger. The lead vehicle exploded. _

_ One of the lab techs waved impatiently at him, ushering him towards the chair. A harsh shove at his shoulder forced him to take stumbling steps. He could feel his pulse pounding in his own throat. _

That wasn't right.

_ Hands were digging around in his chest. "Hold him still––brat's moving too much." His own fingers moved clumsily, following the wires to the car battery beside the cot. _

_ A guard grabbed him by the back of the shirt, trying to wrestle him forward. The boy fought, struggles increasing when a second guard came to grab him by the arms. _

_ The lab tech shot him a bored look, drawing up his daily injection. "Seems a waste, doesn't it?" she remarked to the handler watching him. "Is it even doing anything?" _

_ "Just do your job. Let somebody else worry about whether the serum's working on him." _

Wait. That didn't––

_ Tony coughed, throat burning as he choked on the rancid water, unable to keep holding his breath. There was no way he could continue like this. He gave in. _

_ He surrendered. _

_ The handler yanked him off the floor, expression a rictus of fury. Anthony bit back a cry of pain. He tried to find his footing, to take some of the pressure off his shoulder as the woman shook him, screaming in his face. "You don't surrender! You are a weapon––other people surrender to you! You either win or you die, understand?!" _

_ There was a thump in the sand beside him as he tried to get a message off to Arno. A missile. Stark Industries brand. _

_ Rough hands strapped him down. The chair was too big for him. _

No. No, he wasn't––they never put him in the chair…

_ Tony hammered away. Any moment now, someone could figure it out. He and Yinsen would die. He'd never see Arno or Clint or Natalia again. _

_ The Asset was screaming as Anthony stood at the edge of the room. Waiting. _

_ A guard was trying to force his mouth open. "Let him place the block, you idiot child. Do you think anyone would care if you bit your own tongue off?" The chair was too big. _

_ The Asset was screa––no. No, not the Asset. Them. They were screaming past the block between their teeth. The professor watched dispassionately from nearby. "Again," he told the technician. _

_ The man flipped the switch. The world vanished into blinding agony–– _

Tony lashed out, suddenly loose limbs flailing. His fist landed a hit that he immediately followed up with an elbow jab. He blindly threw the rest of his body at his attacker, tackling them to the floor and winding his arm back to deliver another blow.

Sound was the first thing to come back to him, several voices urgently calling his name. Someone grabbed his arm just long enough to yank him back, only to let go and dance out of range as he automatically whirled towards them. Distantly, he realized the loud breathing in his ears was his own.

Blinking rapidly, Tony finally started seeing his surroundings again. He was in the living room at the mansion. In Malibu. He was… He wasn't… His gaze hurriedly swept around as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

Clint seemed to have been the one that had yanked him back from whoever he'd been about to whale upon. "Whoa, easy," he was saying, hands and expression placating. "You're okay. It's alright. Just a nightmare. You're safe now."

"You with us, man?" Rhodey was asking from where he stood in front of a wide-eyed Pepper. When had he..? He must have come while Tony was out. Tony must have dozed off.

"I know I probably deserve it, but this fucking hurts," Arno moaned, causing Tony to turn back to where the man was sprawled across the carpet. The billionaire flinched a bit, wincing as the movement caused him to press too hard against his bleeding face. "God, please say you're awake again. I yield––uncle, I tell you!"

"I'm awake," Tony murmured, blinking away some of his lingering confusion as the remnants conjured by his subconscious mind escaped him. "God, Arno, I'm––"

"Hey, no, I shouldn't have tried touching you while you were asleep," the billionaire cut off the apology. He accepted the hand up Tony offered. "Didn't mean to startle you like that."

"Startle him? I think he's the one that startled all of us," Clint teased good-naturedly, making sure to telegraph his movements as he clapped a hand over Tony's shoulder.

Tony leaned a bit into the touch. "I really am sorry about that," he insisted.

"Man, you've really got nothing to apologize about," Rhodey told him as Pepper returned from the kitchen with some ice and a medkit. "Honestly, I'd be more surprised if you _ weren't _ having nightmares. Seemed like a bad one, too. You want to talk about it?"

"I…" Tony began, watching as Arno flinched at Pepper's ministrations. He blinked, a frown pulling between his brows. "I was…"

"You don't have to if you're not ready, Tony," Pepper said kindly, handing off the towel-wrapped bundle of ice to Arno.

"It's not that, I just… It was mostly just scattered moments from the caves and from when I was younger. I can't really remember any of it, now," he replied.

Clint flopped back down onto the loveseat, tugging Tony down beside him. "Well, whatever you were dreaming about, it kinda looked like you were having a seizure or something," he said aloud, inquiring with his hands, _ "Seriously, who do I need to kill?" _

That made Tony crack a smile. Mostly because he was certain Clint was at least half-serious with the offer. He opened his mouth to reply, hands already moving, when JARVIS spoke up.

"I apologize for interrupting, sirs, but Mr. Stane has arrived," the AI informed them.

Tony groaned in protest, head falling against the back of the sofa. "Can we tell him you're not up for any visitors?" he pleaded. Never mind the fact that there were technically three visitors already in the house. They didn't count, though. Clint, Pepper, and Rhodey were all people that Tony liked and trusted. Obadiah just… rubbed him the wrong way. The last thing he felt up for was playing nice with the man.

"You don't have to deal with him, T," Arno told him, tone a bit nasally. "I'll talk to him. You can go rest upstairs."

"There is no way he's going to believe that _ you _ just came back from being held captive in a cave," Tony pointed out dryly. Sighing, he moved to stand, only to topple back onto his ass at Arno's next words.

"Well, no, but he knows I'm not the one that got kidnapped."

Tony's attention snapped over to the man. _ "What?" _ he demanded.

"Look, Tony, I know you don't like him for some reason, but we had to bring Obie into the loop when you were taken," the billionaire explained. "Without him, someone would have eventually noticed I was still here. And if your captors had figured out they'd taken the wrong person? Tony, I couldn't risk that. We needed his help to keep things under wraps while we searched for you."

"You told him," Tony echoed, unease churning in his stomach as he stared. "He knows."

"I'm sorry, T. I know you really didn't want him to."

Clint stood nearby, looking between the two brunets, clearly deliberating what he should do. Raking his hands through his hair, Tony then signed at him to meet him upstairs. The archer promptly left the room.

"I guess I should at least say hi, then," Tony sighed. He rose to his feet before fixing Arno with a hard look, "I don't want him to know about the arc reactor."

Surprised, Arno immediately protested. "He'll think it's ingenious! He was one of people saying there was no way we could find a practical application for it, that it would always just be some publicity stunt, but you blew that all out of the water _in a cave!_ Tony, we can't just––"

"Arno!" Tony cut in sharply, voice softening when the other man subsided. "Please. I don't… I'm not ready. Please, let's just keep it among ourselves."

Deflating a bit, the billionaire relented. "Of course. It's your choice, since it's inside of you and all, I just… I forgot for a moment that it isn't just an exciting development, but also one of the things you had to achieve in order to survive. Sorry, T."

"It's okay," Tony said. Rhodey and Pepper both readily agreed not to say anything about the device and Tony felt some of the tension start to leave his shoulders.

Granted, said tension came back seconds later when the front door opened and Stane's voice called out, "Anybody home? Arno?" And really, how was that necessary? The man already knew there was somebody home, otherwise, he wouldn't have come in the first place.

"Here in the living room!" Arno called back, easing the bundle of ice back onto his face.

Footsteps echoed along the hall and then Stane was there, standing in the doorway, shrewd gaze taking in the scene. He quirked a brow at Arno. "What happened to you?"

"DUM-E got too enthusiastic with the fire extinguisher," the billionaire responded without missing a beat.

The only man shook his head reprovingly––he was never hesitant to disparage the bots, even if he was holding his tongue for the moment. He stepped further into the room, gaze sweeping briefly over Pepper and Rhodey before coming to rest on Tony. "So," he said, "you must be Tony. I had no idea."

"That was sort of the point," Tony replied, tone light despite his own misgivings. He didn't like the way the businessman was looking at him. Stane's gaze was coldly appraising, calculating. And Tony couldn't decide if the slight undercurrent in the man's tone was real or something he was imagining. He was at least half-certain the fatherly smile the man's face broke into was a lie.

"Well, it's nice to officially meet you," Stane declared, "despite everything you've had to endure. I know Arno is glad to have you back."

"It's good to be back."

Pepper, bless her soul, picked that moment to step in. "Tony was just going up to get some more rest," she said, rubbing a hand soothingly down his arm and giving him a reassuring smile.

"That's right," Arno seconded. "Go. JARVIS will tell us if you need anything."

"Thanks," Tony told them, giving each of his friends a brief smile before making his departure. Of course, the moment he thought Tony was out of earshot, Stane spoke up again.

"He's quite the actor, isn't he? Doesn't seem to act like you, at all."

"Well, he was just tortured and held prisoner for three months," Arno defended, "so, maybe we give him a break."

By that point, Tony was headed up the stairs and no longer able to hear the conversation from the living room. He replayed the interaction in his head as he climbed the steps. Perhaps it was nothing, but Stane hadn't offered Tony his hand when 'officially meeting' him. Not that Tony felt especially broken up about that.

Still, it seemed a rather pointed breach of etiquette.

Or maybe, that was just Tony's dislike of the man talking.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	19. Resolve

**Chapter Nineteen: Resolve**

#

When Tony got up to his room, Clint was talking to JARVIS who had Stane's company bio, several articles, and what appeared to be a background check displayed across the windows. Tony blinked bemusedly before stepping in and quietly closing the door.

"So," he began as he took a closer look. That was definitely a background check. Looked like Stane wasn't a very safe driver. "What do you think of Stane?"

"Haven't met the guy," Clint replied. "Seems to like telling Stark what to do with his company, though. Figure something's hinky about the dude if you dislike him that much."

"It's not that I dislike him," Tony denied.

"Right, and I've got perfect hearing in both ears. You distrust him, Tony. You tend to dislike the people you don't trust," Clint pointed out.

The brunet gingerly eased himself down onto the bed. "Okay, I don't like him. But Arno trusts him. He's known the guy since he was a kid."

"So?"

Tony blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "So? So, Arno…" he tried, but the only arguments he had felt flimsy even in his own mind.

"So, _ Arno _ was supposed to die in Afghanistan, if you ask me," Clint opined, "but _ you _ survived and the captors got greedy. Or do you really think it was all some sort of coincidence? I mean, I don't believe for a second Stark's itinerary wasn't kept secret for his own protection."

"There was someone behind it."

"You tell me."

"I _ am," _ stressed Tony, the idea increasingly obvious the more he thought about it. "Someone was behind it all. I mean, I met some of the leaders of the group holding me, people that were definitely in charge, but it still seemed like there was something more going on."

"So, what I think is Stane likes trying to tell Stark how to run his business and you don't like him," concluded Clint. "Also, in the absence of another heir or a will designating someone else, guess who's most likely to become Stark Industries' CEO if something were to happen to Stark?"

"Obadiah Stane."

"Funny how that works, huh?" the archer drawled.

Tony stared at the documents pulled up on the windows, a hand rising to tap idly at his chest. "Yeah," he murmured as he turned over everything he knew about Stane in his head, "funny."

#

Eventually, Tony did lay down to get some more rest. After the past couple of days and the horrible months preceding them, he was exhausted. Even then, it was only the security of knowing Clint and JARVIS were keeping watch in the place he considered home that allowed him to slip easily into slumber.

He roused briefly at one point to cool, slender fingers threading through his hair, a familiar voice speaking softly to him in Russian, _ "Peace, Antoshka." _

"Natalia?" he murmured, eyes opening to a dark room, although he couldn't be certain whether it was night or if JARVIS had darkened the windows.

In answer, the assassin settled beside him, curling protectively around him. It was nice. Comforting. _ "If you ever scare us like that again, I will murder you," _ she informed him.

_ "I'll do my best not to," _ Tony replied sleepily, eyes falling shut again after locating Clint's sprawled out form on the other side of the mattress.

The next time Tony woke, the room was brighter. He blinked away the bleariness, noting that Clint had left at some point. When he turned back towards Natalia, he found her green eyes watching him.

"Hey," he said. _ "You really did come." _

_ "Of course, I came," _ Nat replied like it was the most natural thing in the world. _ "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I wanted to." _

_ "You're here, now." _

Her lips curved up into a small smile. _ "I am." _

_ "I missed you, Natalia," _ Tony told her.

_ "I missed you, too, kotyonok." _

_ "Am I a kitten, now? Should I call you 'bunny'?" _ teased the brunette.

Natalia gave him a sharp-toothed smile, _ "Only if you dare." _

Tony pressed his head back into his pillow and laughed. _ "I think I've had enough near-death experiences these last few months. I'd better pass," _ he said.

The redhead hummed in agreement as she carded her fingers through his hair. For a few minutes, Tony just enjoyed the sensation and Natalia seemed just as content. Physical affection had never been something either of them excelled at, their upbringings having dissuaded such behaviors. Tony was certain Nat enjoyed such demonstrations as much as he did.

"Should I call you Natasha, now?" Tony asked in English when he felt himself start to drift off again.

Fingers still combing soothingly, the woman answered in kind. "If you like. It is what I've been going by."

"But do you like being called Natasha?" he asked, eyes watching her face.

To her credit, she considered his question carefully, rather than trying to brush it off. She had never lied to him that often––at least, not that he was aware. There was plenty she simply didn't say, same as he had, but seldom a flat out lie.

"I like it," she finally replied, "but I like Natalia, as well. Natalia is the name I had when I was young, but Natasha feels… warmer, I guess. I don't know."

"Maybe I'll call you both."

"Maybe you will."

"There's something I should tell you," Tony said quietly. "You and Clint, that is. Something I should have told you a long time ago, but I just… I didn't really want to think about it myself, so I never did."

Natalia frowned minutely, giving his hair a gentle tug before soothing the lock back down again. "Clint went downstairs mumbling about coffee," she told him.

"Tell you both after we all find some sustenance?" Tony suggested.

"That would be acceptable," she agreed. She gave his hair one last stroke before pressing a brief kiss to his temple, murmuring softly in his ear, _ "Thank you for coming back, Antoshka." _

_ "As long as I have strength to fight, I couldn't leave any of you," _ he responded honestly, earning himself one of Natalia's rare full-faced smiles. Giving his cheek a quick pat, she pushed up off the bed and wandered into his bathroom. Tony levered himself up and stared at the closed door for a moment, then decided to take care of his own needs in the guest suite.

Nat always had been a bathroom hog.

#

Breakfast turned out to be a spread of cereals and fruit with toast and scrambled eggs. And coffee, of course, since the majority of those present were addicted to the substance. Tony's meal was accompanied by the meds the docs in Bagram had prescribed for his various infections which Pepper handed to him along with the forearm splint he was pretty sure he had 'lost' under one of the couch cushions.

Since he found himself with not one, but two redheads watching him like a hawk, Tony downed the pills and put on the stupid brace. At least no one had foisted the damned sling on him again.

Arno stumbled up from the workshop partway through, no doubt lured by the smell of coffee. His hair was flat on one side and sticking up on the other. That, combined with the lines on his face, pointed to the fact that he had undoubtedly fallen asleep at his desk rather than in his bed.

The man grumbled in lieu of saying good morning, making his way straight to the coffee pot. He was halfway through his second cup before he noticed there was a stranger in his kitchen. "Wait, who's this?" he blinked. "Intruder. How'd she get in here?"

"In through the window," Nat answered calmly, taking a sip of her orange juice. Clint promptly choked on his eggs and Tony reached over to pound his back with his good arm, an amused smirk on his face.

"What, you don't remember Natasha coming by?" Rhodey asked guilelessly. "You talked for hours last night."

"We did not," Arno denied, looking between his best friend and the newcomer. "Did we?"

"Miss Natalia did, in fact, enter via the southeast window on the second floor last night," JARVIS put in helpfully. "From there, she proceeded directly to Master Tony's room, where she remained until this morning."

"You really came in through the window?" Tony asked in amusement. "I'm sure J would have let you in through a door."

She shrugged a shoulder. "Seemed more direct at the time," she replied.

Conversation remained light for the rest of the meal. It was almost easy to believe they were just a group of friends and acquaintances getting together for breakfast. Tony was loath to break the illusion and everyone else seemed to feel the same way. Eventually, however, there was more talking to be done and Arno was the one to point it out.

"So," the billionaire began as everyone's plates were moved to the sink, "is it safe to assume that everyone here is on the list to hear what happened? I mean, if you're not ready for that, it's fine. Of course, it's fine. It just… It seems like it might be easier to just have to tell the story once."

Tony let out a shaky breath, running his right hand through his hair. "No, you're right," he said. "I'd rather not have to repeat myself and just be done with it. Now's as good a time as any, right?"

"Only if you're sure, Tony," Pepper reiterated. "No one here is going to blame you if you don't feel up to talking, yet."

"I want to," Tony assured, eyes moving over the people he considered his friends. "I want to tell you guys what I–– I'll tell you what I can."

As they settled back into the living room, Tony proceeded to do just that. He started with the attack on the convoy, the brave young men and women who'd died, the moment of blind horror as he recognized not only the missile, but the logo stamped upon it. He described waking up in a cave with an electromagnet in his chest connected to a car battery. There, he paused to lift his shirt to let them see the scars from the shrapnel and the following surgery, as well as the arc reactor he made to power the magnet, instead.

He also gave Pepper a moment to cry on his behalf.

Next, he spoke of Yinsen, his savior, and his captors' demand that he build the Jericho for them––and his initial refusal. He skimmed over the torture, sparing what details he could while still being coherent. Even then, the details were more than sufficient. (He didn't mention his lost time, at all.)

Then he told them about how he came up with a plan to escape. He described how he and Yinsen worked tirelessly through continued threats and maltreatment, half-expecting to be caught before they succeeded. Tony told them about the final ultimatum Raza issued and how, when the time came, Yinsen sacrificed himself so that Tony could make it.

"After that, I blasted out of there," Tony concluded after what felt like hours of talking to his hands, not quite able to look any of them in the face. Not that he actually recalled blasting his way out, but that's why he had Rhodey and Clint.

"Yeah, and you took out a bunch of their people and their entire weapons stockpile when you went," Rhodey spoke up, right on cue. "If it weren't for the resulting explosion, we might not have found you."

"Nothing like a big ball of flames saying 'look over here' to hasten a search-and-rescue," added Clint.

"Thanks again for finding me. Both of you," Tony told the two men.

"Like hell any of us were about to leave you out there," retorted Rhodey.

"What about next steps?" Arno questioned aloud. "Obviously, T, you've got some healing to do, and I know I'm not the only one in this room who's here to help you do that however I can. Why I ask is because my weapons are out there. You told me last night that they've been out there for years, which means someone has been illegally selling them right under my nose––right under my dad's nose. I can't… I make weapons to protect people, but if they're out in the wrong hands, that means innocent people are dying, the people I'm trying to protect are dying, and that's on me."

"Arno, you can't––" Rhodey protested.

"Can't what?" he cut him off. "Can't blame myself? Why not? Sure, I didn't personally put them out there, but they're my designs. It's my company's logo, its reputation. Someone has to be accountable, don't you think? Clearly, I have dropped the ball, and Tony's the one who paid for it."

"I think it's great that you want to be accountable," Pepper interjected smoothly, "but what Rhodey means is that the person ultimately responsible for all this is the same one who has been selling them on the black market."

Clint took the chance to jump in, "Tony and I were discussing that just night, actually. Pretty sure we've got a likely suspect."

"You do?" Arno inquired.

Tony fidgeted in his seat, head dipping just a bit further down. The logic made sense. Everything he knew and had been able to find fit. Nevertheless, he knew Arno wouldn't like it. How could he just say––

"Obadiah Stane," Clint announced.

There was a beat of silence, then Rhodey let out a curse. Pepper frowned deeply as she considered the pronouncement while Nat solemnly tracked everyone's reactions. Arno gaped, words failing him for a moment, before he shook his head.

"No," he denied, a trace of doubt in his tone. "No. Obie… I've known the guy since I was a kid––"

"Which means he's been around long enough to know how to redirect a few shipments and accept under-the-table payments without looking suspicious," Clint drawled. "Hey, wasn't he your dad's business partner before he became yours?"

"Arno, the logic tracks," Rhodey pointed out. "Out of everybody, Stane had the most to gain if something were to happen to you."

"You know, like getting killed by terrorists," the blond chimed in brightly.

Arno stared for a long moment, stricken, blue eyes moving from Rhodey to Clint before finally settling on Tony. "Tony?" he asked. "I know you never liked the guy, but… You really think Obie could have done this? Any of it?"

For a long moment, Tony was helpless to do anything more than stare back. He could see the impending heartache behind the other man's eyes, the way he hoped for any other possibility. Tony remembered Arno saying how Stane was like a second father to him.

Tony opened his mouth, but it was Pepper who spoke next.

"His response was off," she said, soft but certain. "When you told Obadiah about Tony and what had happened in Afghanistan, there was just something about his response... I wasn't sure what to make of it until now, thought maybe it was just part of his surprise. But he was angry––furious––just for a moment, but it was there. Arno, Obadiah wasn't just upset that you'd been lying to him about Tony, he was angry that you weren't where you were supposed to be."

Arno's eyes fell shut, head drooping down between his shoulders. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, throat working compulsively. He sucked in a breath and forced it back out.

"I really did want to trust him, Arn," Tony offered quietly, apologetic.

"I know," the billionaire replied just as quietly, mouth twisting into a pained grimace. "I know you did, T."

It was quiet in the room, Tony's story and the suspicions against Stane weighing on everyone present. After a few minutes, or perhaps a few hours, Rhodey was the one to break it.

"So, what are you going to do, Arno?" he prompted.

The billionaire's head lifted, eyes glinting with resolve. "Well, first things first, I'm shutting down weapons production. It's time the company went a different direction, anyway," he declared. "And then, we're going to go digging for evidence. Whether or not it's Obie, there's a rat in my company, and I'm going to root it out."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	20. Transitioning

**Chapter Twenty: Transitioning**

#

There was more to the discussion than that, of course, primarily between Arno and Rhodey. This was mostly due to the fact that as military liaison, Rhodey had to issue at least a token protest to the idea of SI no longer producing weapons. That, and as an Air Force officer, Rhodey simply had a different perspective from a civilian businessman.

Either way, Tony felt that his part in the conversation was done, at least for the moment. He could see both sides of the argument, of course. Yes, weapons in the wrong hands could cause a lot of harm to innocents, but it often required quality weapons to protect those same innocents. Tony would follow Arno's lead on the matter. At the moment, he owed Clint and Natasha a bit of truth.

The three of them had gone out onto the balcony looking out over the Pacific. For a few moments, Tony took in the view, breathing in the ocean air. Nat waited patiently, gaze also fixed on the horizon, but Clint was not given to prolonged silences.

"Honestly, Tones, you don't––" the blond began before Tony cut him off with a brief shake of his head.

He turned around to rest his back against the rail, signing along as he often did in any conversation involving the archer. "I didn't mean to lie," he told them. "Not to either of you. I thought… It wasn't my intent to mislead you or leave you in the dark, I just didn't want to–-to sully what you were trying to do. You both wanted to do good, to do better, and I… I just… I didn't want to ruin that. So, I kept quiet and I kept an eye on the situation, even though I'm starting to realize that there are a lot of things I shouldn't keep to myself."

"What are you trying to tell us?" Natasha asked, not unkindly. Her gaze met his directly, expression attentive but otherwise indecipherable.

"SHIELD is Hydra," Tony stated baldly. "Or rather, Hydra is in SHIELD. Have been since SHIELD was founded, actually, which made––"

He was interrupted by Nat biting out a curse in Russian before turning to pace agitatedly along the balcony. Tony flinched despite himself. Was her response a sign that she was extremely upset or that she had let down her walls enough to let them see that she was upset in the first place? The brunet couldn't be sure; he hadn't seen her in two years.

Meanwhile Clint looked between the two of them bewilderedly. "I'm sorry, SHIELD is what? What's Hydra? I'm guessing bad, but honestly, I thought it was a multi-headed dragon thing."

"They're––" Only Tony wasn't sure how to explain what precisely Hydra was to someone who didn't have some previous knowledge of the organization. The words available to him felt too inadequate, but he knew he had to try. "They were founded with the goal of world domination and the belief people can't be trusted with their freedom and needed to be… overseen for their own good. It started out as a research division for the Nazis back in World War II. They went underground after the disappearance of their leader at the time and have worked in secret to orchestrate events to mold the world as they see fit ever since. They're… bad."

Clint took a moment to process this information, gaze fixed on Tony's face so the brunet could see when it all clicked into place. "They're the ones that raised you," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Tony confirmed.

"And they're in SHIELD. You knew this when I joined up with them?"

"Not until just after you left with Agent Coulson. When I found the business card he gave you."

"And you never said anything," the archer clarified, to which Tony shook his head and the blond sighed. "Okay. Okay, look. Trust isn't your thing. I get that––you know I get that––but Tones, you need to share this sort of stuff."

"I kept an eye on things," Tony protested weakly, tone apologetic, "on you. None of the people you work for directly are Hydra. I made sure of it."

"Then Clint brought me in," said Natasha, having recollected herself. "If I'd told you where I was going would you have told me, Tony?"

Tony met her gaze but could only offer an uncertain shrug. "I wanted to, but…"

"We were trying to be better and you didn't want to ruin that somehow," Clint repeated what Tony had said before.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, gaze dropping to his hands and the imperceptible line across his left palm. After a moment, Natasha's hand crossed his vision to close around his, squeezing firmly but gently. He glanced up to meet her eyes.

"We'll just have to fix things, now, won't we?" she suggested.

They weren't, Tony thought, okay just yet, but they would be. Because they understood one another. Just as he understood how his delayed admission would affect her, she understood what made him keep it to himself. They would get past this, it just might take a bit of time.

"Get rid of Hydra," said Tony, not voicing his doubt at the notion. They both knew him well enough to hear it.

"Don't be so skeptical," Clint told him, equal parts teasing and reassuring. "We're a pair of spysassins and you're a super-hacker genius. How hard could it be?"

Hard. It could be very, very hard.

None of them said it aloud, however. They already knew. It wasn't going to stop them from trying, anyway.

#

After a lot of discussion, it was decided that the best course of action was to deal with Stane before Arno changed the direction of Stark Industries. The billionaire did halt all new and upcoming weapons projects, reassigning those employees as needed to wrap up old contracts to avoid having to lay anyone off. Rhodey still wasn't completely sold on the idea, but Arno was adamant.

The situation with Stane was almost anticlimactic in its resolution. It turned out that the man kept all the evidence needed to convict him on a ghost drive on his work computer. There was not only proof that he had been selling SI weapons under the table for years, but also a video and accompanying documentation that he had ordered the attack on Arno in Afghanistan. Since Tony was still nowhere near fully recovered, he was there when Stane was taken into custody.

It was equal parts bemusing and unsettling that the man never once tried to out Tony as a fraud, although he did have words for him before he was escorted away.

"You think you've won," Stane declared. He looked and sounded smug, but his eyes burned with fury. "You're smart; of course, you think you've won. The problem with you smart guys is that you always forget where you came from, the people that made you who you are. But they never forget you, my boy. Might want to keep that in mind. The people who made you never forget."

Anyone else listening would easily have thought those words were meant for Arno. Perhaps, to some extent, they were. But Tony also knew, with a thrill of dread, that those words were meant for him in particular. Which could only mean one thing, of course. Somehow, Stane knew where Tony came from.

Tony ignored his first impulse, which was to disappear. He couldn't do that to his friends. Furthermore, if he started running again, he knew he would never be able to stop.

He also managed to ignore his second impulse to keep the encounter to himself. Instead, he went straight to the others to tell them what happened. Their collective response almost made him wish he had gone with impulse number two.

A group who were already protective towards him readily jumped into overprotective mode. Tony felt that he didn't spend more than ten minutes alone at a stretch and only because that time was spent in the shower. When he wasn't at the mansion, Pepper or Happy were close by, with Clint or Nat trailing along unseen. It felt a little unnecessary, but if it made them feel better, Tony was content to leave them to it for the time being.

Together, Tony and Arno made a new arc reactor to replace the one he'd made in the cave. Pepper took it and placed it on a stand in an ornamental box, the reactor surrounded by the words 'Proof that Heart Overcomes Adversity.' They put it up on a shelf where it could be seen without the danger of being knocked over by excitable robots.

Eventually, life settled back into what approximated normality. Clint and Natasha went back to SHIELD, wary of the people around them even as they worked with Tony to find a way to start weeding out Hydra. Rhodey returned to his duties with the Air Force. As Arno worked towards directing his company away from weapons, Pepper assisting him along the way, Tony put his efforts towards planning a project of his own. He wasn't ready to share what it was with anyone besides JARVIS, yet, but he would soon. After all, he would need Arno's assistance in order to move forward with it.

The weeks fairly flew, peacefully enough that even people prone to an overabundance of caution started to ease down their guards. Only slightly, of course––they were content, not foolish. Of course, slightly was all it took.

Happy had waited by the car as Tony ran in to get carryout from his favorite Chinese restaurant one afternoon.

When Happy went in to check on him ten minutes later, Tony was gone.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	21. 492

**Chapter Twenty-One: 492**

#

"You do know conducting business in a warehouse is such a bad guy cliche, right?" Tony asked as he was steered between shipping crates. "I mean, you know it's cliche when I know it's cliche." Surly Goon Number 4 jabbed him in the back with the muzzle of his gun and Tony decided to take the hint to close his mouth.

He had just wanted some sesame chicken and an egg roll. Honestly, it didn't seem like a lot to ask. As it turned out, someone decided that his favorite takeout restaurant was the perfect place to grab him. They weren't wrong; especially when they went so far as to subtly threaten to harm the nice family who ran the restaurant. Tony went without a fight. The Huangs and the other patrons never knew they were in danger.

As they moved along, Tony constructed a mental map of the building's layout. A row of offices lined at least one wall of the building, the remaining "walls" and walkways being made up of that industrial shelving that was ubiquitous to warehouses everywhere. This particular building was obviously in somewhat regular use, judging by the general lack of dust.

After several minutes of weaving around between shelving, Goon Numbers 1 through 5 (Goon Number 6 and Goon Sunday Driver had remained to guard the door leading in) brought him into a large room at the far end of the building. It was empty save for a chair in the middle and a table against one wall whose apparent use was for the goons to put down their weapons and menacingly clean and reload them.

Had he mentioned the cliche thing, yet?

"You, sit," Goon Prime told him, gesturing to the chair with his weapon.

"I'm good, thanks. I'd much rather stand," Tony said. His gracious refusal was met with two of the goons shoving him roughly down into the chair, a heavy hand resting on each of his shoulders. "You know what, you're right. I could really take a load off, after all."

"Shut up," snapped Head Goon, before turning to one of his cohorts, "Go call the professor."

Tony felt a thrill of unease that he did his best to quell. "Professor Braun is involved in all this?" he asked. "That tracks, I guess. You do seem to be a bit better prepared than the last guy, let me tell you."

The man gave a derisive snarl. "I thought I told you to_ shut up!" _

A beat, then, "I'm sorry, does that mean the professor is involved or not?"

For a moment, Tony was sure he was about to get pistol-whipped as the group's leader took a menacing step towards him, gun arm raised. Tony flinched back despite himself, which seemed to appease the man well enough that he subsided. He turned towards the table to pick up a small blue book that had been sitting on the far corner.

"Since you won't willingly shut up, I'll make you," Goon Leader declared, shooting Tony a smug look.

Tony quirked a brow at him. "With a book?" he questioned doubtfully. "Are you going to beat me over the head with it?" And really, where had his self-preservation gotten to? Surely, it was better than this.

Rather than answer directly, the Hydra agent thumbed through the book to find the correct page. It looked like one of those handwritten journals a person could get from most any store, the blue cover unmarked and void of any sort of title. Which meant that whatever was in said book might not even be among any of Hydra's digital files. That, in turn, meant Tony had no idea just what it might contain. Although, something about it did seem familiar…

As Tony tried to piece together what exactly about the scenario felt so familiar, the man found the page he was looking for with a satisfied sort of grunt. Then, he said aloud, _ "подношение." _

Which… wasn't at all what Tony was expecting. He knew Russian––of course he did––but, _ "Offering?" _ he repeated aloud. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

_ "Cradle," _ the man said next, making even less sense, before adding after that, _ "twenty-nine." _

That was when he figured out why the scenario seemed so familiar. The color of the book was wrong and the words were different, but Tony had stood by, just once as a small boy, as one of the Asset's handlers read his control words from a hand-written red book.

_ "Spy." _

Except Tony didn't have control words. It was impossible, he thought, even as the nerves prickled along his spine.

_ "Lonely." _

The only way Tony could have control words was if he'd been put in the chair. He would've had to have been programmed. But he had never been in the chair. They barely let him in the room except when he was working on the Asset's arm. Tony would remember if he had––

_ "Dreamer." _

Wouldn't he? Or _ would _ he?

There were gaps in his memory. He could recall details about a person that would escape others, remember things he had seen and read years before, but there were minutes, hours, days in his life that were blank going back farther than he was comfortable admitting to himself.

_ "Genius." _

"No," Tony whispered, struggling against the hands on his shoulders, equal parts denial and protest. Because Yinsen had known to call him Mechanic. Tony hadn't been the one to tell him that. Except that Tony was the only one who could have shared that information. Which meant…

_ "Five." _

There was something inside of him. Tony had felt it before and he felt it now: another _ awareness _ seeming to rise from his center, a coiled mass of anger and rage, of determination and resolve… self-assurance. _ 'Let me,' _ it whispered.

_ "Songbird." _

_ 'Let me,' _ the other insisted. Tony could almost feel as it reached out, settling into his body like a hand sliding into a well-worn glove. _ 'Let go, Anthony. Let me.' _

Tony dragged in a breath.

_ "Child," _ the Hydra agent concluded, looking up from the blue book. "492?"

Tony wasn't the one who calmly breathed back out.

#

It was always an odd sort of feeling, settling behind the wheel, as it were. Although, it had been a long time since they were brought forth with the command sequence. Coming aware when there wasn't an immediate need for action was quite a novel experience, indeed.

They took stock of the body. The arc reactor was a heavy, uncomfortable weight in the chest accompanied by a not-unexpected but wholly manageable low-level pain-much improved over the last time they'd taken control. No matter, they had no intention of being hit in the chest, anyway. All other parts seemed to be in good repair and working under acceptable parameters.

Overall, the current situation was favorable.

To themself, anyhow.

"492?" the handler prompted again.

Nix that, they thought as they lifted their gaze: would-be handler. The man was clearly an overeager upstart. "Oh, were you wanting a response?" 492 replied. "I thought tools were meant to be quiet. My apologies."

The agents on either side of the asset shuffled uneasily, one of the men tightening his hold painfully on their shoulder. The leader stared warily at them and 492 smirked back, amused.

"The professor didn't send you, did he?" they asked knowingly. "You're trying to show him up. Prove that you can bring in the runaway asset that he has failed to recapture all these years. You obviously didn't read all his notes if you believed the command sequence was the way to ensure your success."

"What are you talking about? Why are you talking at all?" the agent demanded. "You're supposed to obey anyone who says the command sequence––that's how it works!"

"You're thinking of the Soldier and his words. But see, if you had done all your homework, you would know that my programming was not only modified from that of the Winter Soldier but also deemed a failure," they informed the man. "Or did you think I was unutilized because Hydra couldn't find four reasonably competent people to do Anthony's work in his stead?"

The handler (self-appointed though he may be) stared at them, mouth opening and closing as he cast about for a response. They watched impassively, more interested in the nervous inattention of the agent on their left and the insubstantial hold he had on his sidearm. Likely because the man was obviously right-handed.

Honestly, where did Hydra find these dullards?

"It doesn't matter," the handler finally settled upon. "You're here, now, and you're outnumbered and unarmed with no escape. Even if you weren't, I've got the book. You will obey me."

A beat, then, "Or what?"

"Huh?"

"I will obey you or _ what? _"

"There's no what, you have to obey! You belong to Hydra. It's not like you can hurt us-that's been ingrained in your programming," the man declared.

492 ducked their head to conceal a brief smirk before looking up again. "I have a few… rebuttals," they said.

In the next instant, their left elbow slammed into the nervous agent's gut, snatching the gun from his hand and raising it to shoot him in the face. They followed it up with a shot directly to the other agent's heart even as they lunged out of the chair at the handler. With calm efficiency, they knocked the man's arm aside, sending the shot he'd fired wide before snapping the man's wrist with a brutal twist and wrenching his arm behind his back.

All this before the two agents waiting outside the room rushed inside with their weapons raised. The asset waggled the gun they had at the leader's head in greeting, almost casually holding the man in front of them as a human shield. Not that there was anything casual in the secure hold they had on the agent.

"You won't escape––backup is coming!" the handler bit out, letting out a pained cry when 492 pressed the hot muzzle to his ear.

"No, no," they told him, "it's still my turn to speak. I had a few rebuttals, you'll recall."

"Sir, what do you want us to do?" one of the other agents asked, trying to shift around for a clear shot. The asset ignored her.

"Firstly, I may be outnumbered, but I am far from outmatched," they informed the man in their hold. "Secondly, as a highly trained human weapon, I am _ never _ unarmed. Thirdly, I not only can, but I will hurt you."

"Keep 492 from leaving at all costs," the lead agent commanded, "he mustn't escape!"

492 sighed, the sound almost disappointed, before pulling the man closer to speak almost conspiratorially into his ear, although they spoke at a normal volume. "Bonus argument, as so plainly illustrated by your cohorts' reluctance to shoot at me: I am infinitely more valuable to Hydra than… well, whoever you were."

With two rapid-fired headshots and a double tap to their captor-turned-captive's back, 492 dropped the body. Since the pistol was nearly spent, anyway, they set it aside in favor of taking the weapons off of the expired agents, pausing only a moment before snatching up the blue book and tucking it into the back of their pants.

"Well, gentlemen," they declared to the quiet room as they fastened a thigh harness into place, "and lady, of course. It's been fun, but I must be leaving now. Things to do, people to see, Hail Hydra, you know the drill. Busy, busy."

Zipping up the tac vest they'd claimed for themself, 492 paused once more to place a radio conspicuously in the center of the table then left the room. The last two agents who had comprised the retrieval team were dispatched with laughable ease. Clearly, Hydra was only sending incompetents after them.

They settled in to wait in a secure corner, passing the radio they'd brought with them from hand to hand. In the end, they were not disappointed, as a familiar voice came through the speaker.

_ "Anthony?" _

492 shook their head before responding. "Wrong, Professor. You're speaking with the other one. But you know that already, don't you?"

_"492,"_ Braun said.

"Ding, ding, give him a prize. Not beatings or solitary confinement today," they quipped. "Though really, Professor, you know I prefer the Mechanic."

_"I still fail to understand your need to differentiate yourself. You are Anthony, Anthony is you,"_ the professor replied.

"See, I might think you actually believed that if you weren't the one to break Anthony in the first place," the Mechanic told him. "Do you suppose the Soldier is like me? A protective personality for whatever poor sod is actually in there?

"Nevermind. I'll ask myself when we meet. And it is when, Professor. Hydra doesn't get to keep the Winter Soldier. Anthony will find a way to free him from you."

There was a moment's pause before Braun's voice came over the radio again, _"Why don't you tell me where you are, Mechanic? Then, you and the Soldier can meet all the sooner. You can't expect me to believe that playing body double for a spoiled rich boy is all that satisfying for you."_

"Nice try, Professor, but I didn't stick around to talk in order to negotiate my return," the asset scorned.

_ "Then, why are we talking, 492?" _

"So that I could hear your voice and remember how much I loathe you," they told him. "Oh, and also to suggest that if you stopped trying to keep secrets, then maybe your precious Hydra would stop needing to use their idiots for fodder."

Without awaiting further response, the Mechanic dropped the radio and smashed it under their heel. They'd wasted enough time on Hydra and its rejects. It was time to get somewhere secure and let Anthony take over again.

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	22. Proof of Identity

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Proof of Identity**

#

He felt hazy, as though his mind and body were pushing through a wall of cotton. A hand reached ahead of him to open the door and the rest of him followed it into the entryway beyond. There was a sharp clicking sound––high heels on a hard floor––accompanied by a woman's worried voice.

"Oh, my god––Tony!" Hands that were blessedly cool and solid and _ real _ cupped his cheek for a moment, before fluttering around him anxiously. "Happy has been all over trying to find you again. We've tried calling the police, but you haven't been missing long enough to… Is that blood? What happened to you? Do you need a hospital?!"

"Pepper?" he mumbled, finally putting a name to the woman's face.

"Tony?" another voice drew his attention and he looked over to find himself looking at… himself? No, wait. That wasn't right.

"Arno?"

And suddenly, it was like Tony was slamming back into himself, senses and presence of mind abruptly coming fully online again. With a yelp, he stumbled back into the door jamb. Thrusting his arms out in front of himself to keep the others at bay, he glanced anxiously around, breathing rapid and heart speeding in alarm.

"What––when did… How did I get back here?" he demanded shrilly. He tripped over the threshold onto the front step and Pepper reached out to grab his arm to try to keep him from falling. "No! Don't! _ Don't touch me. _ How did I get back here?"

"Well," Arno offered in a reasonable voice, his hands held out placatingly before him, "from the look of things, you seem to have borrowed a car and drove yourself."

Tony followed the other man's gesture to see an unfamiliar sedan sitting in the drive. "I––I didn't. I don't remember… last I remember, I was––they were waiting at the restaurant. I had to go with them, or the Huangs... and they… they…"

The words caught in his throat, everything muddling together in his head. There'd been seven agents and a warehouse, a room with a chair and… The book! A blue book and control words and _ something _ had taken charge _ inside of him _, and he––

"Please, I don't want to hurt you," he pleaded hoarsely, "I don't know how I got back here."

"Hey, it's okay," Arno said, maneuvering a stricken Pepper back a bit so he could move closer himself. "You're alright, Tony. You're back home and you're safe and neither of us believe for a second that you would hurt us, accidentally or otherwise."

Tony struggled to even out his breathing, but it seemed he was still too shaken to accomplish the task. "You can't know that," he murmured wretchedly. How could he know that? Tony didn't even know what he did in the time he couldn't remember.

"Maybe not," the billionaire conceded, "but I know you and that's something I'm willing to take a gamble on."

"You're not exactly the poster child for wise decisions," Tony pointed out.

Arno gave a wry grin. "No, but Pepper's with me on this and she's one of the wisest people either of us knows. Ain't that right, Pep?"

The woman nodded in agreement. "That's right," she declared. "Come inside, Tony. Let's get you checked over and into something cleaner, okay?"

At that, Tony looked down at himself for the first time since… before. The tac vest was familiar only in that it was standard issue gear common to Hydra and more legitimate agencies alike. Wherever he'd gotten it (and he had an unsettlingly good idea of where that was), he was fairly certain there hadn't been dried blood on it before. Similar stains were on his pants, more noticeable against the blue material.

"I… I don't think it's mine," he stated numbly, referring to the blood.

"All the more reason to get you into something else," said Arno. "Come on, I'll help you clean up while Pepper lets everyone know you're back."

"Okay," Tony finally agreed. To his credit, he only flinched a little bit when Arno's hand wrapped gently around his elbow. He let the billionaire guide him up the stairs.

Once inside the room, Tony stood numbly by the bed as Arno quietly closed the door. He continued to stand there, still trying to recall something, anything, of what happened when the Hydra agent finished reading the words from the book. He couldn't even recall what the last word had _ been _. The man had opened his mouth to utter it and then… nothing. Not a single thing until Tony was standing down in the foyer.

"You really don't remember how you ended up in bloodstained clothing, do you?" Arno said.

It wasn't really a question, but Tony nodded anyway. "No," he husked out. "Got a pretty good idea." Tony could feel Arno's gaze on him and he could only imagine what the man's expression must hold. Maybe now he would be wary of Tony, realize that he'd been too quick to trust him in the first place.

"Jarv, remember that video I had you bury?" Arno's query made Tony turn to look at the man.

"I presume you refer to the one you told me no one was ever to see," JARVIS replied.

"That's the one," the billionaire confirmed lightly, although his expression was grim as it met Tony's. "I think it's time for a little show and tell."

"Of course, sir. Initiating I Know What You Did Last Summer Protocol."

At that, the windows along the back of the room darkened and black and white footage began to play. The quality was less than ideal, but still clear enough to make out a large space closed in by what appeared to be modular room partitions and shipping containers. A man sat in a large chair on a raised platform at the head of the room, guards standing at either side of him while others stood guard at the entrances, a few others bent over some card game at a table in the middle.

For a moment, nothing of import seemed to be taking place. Then, a guard at one of the doorways was abruptly yanked out of frame. His cohort had turned to face the attacker only for a new figure to appear, arm sweeping in front of the guard and a resulting spray bursting from his throat. Everyone in the room appeared to freeze in surprise as their comrade crumpled to the floor. It was only seconds, but it was long enough to be certain that the attacker wielding the large combat knife was Tony.

Tony knew it was himself in the footage. Those were the clothes he'd had to throw out after seeking whoever hired Natalia for the bad job. That had been the first time he'd lost several hours after escaping from Hydra.

Everyone moved at once, then, but Tony already knew the outcome. He'd returned without any injuries save for bruised and bloodied knuckles.

_ "Stop," _ he choked out, just as the image of himself on the screen snapped an elbow back into a woman's face as he stabbed someone else in the throat with the other hand. The still remained up for a second before it vanished and the windows went clear again.

Tony could still see it, anyway.

He struggled to formulate some coherent response but all he could manage was an inadequate, "Why?"

"Sorry," Arno responded apologetically. "Probably should have warned you before having JARVIS show that."

"That's from before we knew each other."

"Well, technically. I knew of you."

"You've had proof of what I'm capable of, and you still let me into your life," Tony uttered incredulously.

"Sure, but I'm honestly more impressed with what you can do with a screwdriver and a few spare parts," Arno shrugged.

Tony finally tore his gaze from the window to glare at the man. "This isn't a joke, Arno! I could kill you!"

"Okay, first of all, A, I'm pretty sure that's true of everyone currently in my life, and B, that wasn't even you," argued Arno. "In fact, I'm going to take a stab in the dark and guess that the reason you don't remember how you went from kidnapped to back here bloody and in one piece is because our violent friend made an appearance."

There was a pregnant pause as Tony stared at the other man. He just wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel about anything anymore. Wetting his lips, he finally asked, "How… Why do you think that isn't me?"

"He carries himself differently. You've learned complete mastery of your body. It's why you're able to emulate mine and other people's habits so effectively," the billionaire explained. "But him? He moves like a predator; every part is a weapon. You favor your right for everything except fighting––which Happy still hates, by the way. His fighting is completely ambidextrous, but at the end of the clip, he leads with his left foot.

"Also, even if you didn't obviously have no memory of what happened then, you definitely didn't know there was a camera. Our friend looks right at it before walking out. Ergo, not you," Arno concluded. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"I think…" Tony offered after a short hesitation, "I think he calls himself the Mechanic."

Arno raised a brow. "Your hacker name?"

"Yes, but I think the name is actually his. I just… never realized it before."

"You really didn't know about him before, did you?"

Again, it wasn't really a question, but again Tony gave a response. "Not really," he said. "I mean, there were times that I just… I guess I suspected something, but I didn't really know. Until today." He chanced a look at Arno's expression and the other man held his gaze for a minute or so.

"Okay," Arno spoke decisively. "First off, you're going to shower and then we'll get some food into you. After that, we'll get this all figured out."

Tony blew out a breath, slumping a bit. Figuring anything out would require more talking, more explanations that he wasn't sure he wanted to give. He already felt tired and raw. He wasn't sure he had the energy to try to explain what happened… what had been done to him without his knowing.

But he also knew that he and Arno worked best together as a team. The trust he gave was always returned. Furthermore, as much as Tony disliked the idea of sharing even more revelations from his past, he found that he disliked the idea facing those revelations alone even more.

"Food would be nice," he conceded.

"Great," Arno said. "I'll have JARVIS order in something. I'm expecting one of the spy twins to show up any moment, now, demanding retribution against your enemies. So, I'll just make sure they know they can stand down for now. Have Jarv call if you need anything."

"I will," said Tony. Offering a somewhat awkward wave, visibly reluctant to leave, Arno then turned to go.

Reaching for the zipper of the tac vest, Tony shrugged it off and laid it aside. Then, he grabbed for the bulky object that had been tucked into his belt beneath it. Tony was not surprised when it turned out to be a book––it had certainly felt like one. What shouldn't have surprised him was when it turned out to be _ the _ book. The handwritten blue journal that the agent had read from before he lost all grasp on himself.

He reflexively tossed it away from him with a startled, _ "gah!" _ It landed on the carpet with a muted thump, a loose page coming partway from its pages. Hesitantly, Tony moved towards it, reaching to pick it back up.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the loose sheet free. It had clearly been torn from the journal itself. Tony was pretty sure the message on it was new, though; he recognized the writing

The writing was his own. Not the half-bold, always rushed engineer's hand that he thought of as his 'Stark script', since it was identical to the billionaire's own. No, this was Tony's handwriting, the old-styled cursive he'd been taught as a child, only with one exception.

It had a leftward slant.

_ 'Anthony,' _ it was addressed.

Tony crammed the page roughly back into the book before shoving the whole thing under his mattress. He hastily shed the rest of his clothes as he made his way into the bathroom to climb into the shower. The water wasn't even hot yet when he doused himself beneath the spray.

He told himself he hadn't seen the rest of the innocuous note. Eventually, Tony knew he would have to deal with it all. With the book and the note in his own hand and… them. At the moment, however, he just couldn't.

So, he wouldn't. Instead, he would focus on showering, then food. After that, he would see.

Even as he tried not to think about it, Tony couldn't help but note that he'd been right. The one that wrote the message had signed it _ 'Mechanic.' _

#

_ 'Anthony, This book should answer many of the questions I'm sure you now have. I trust you'll have little trouble answering the rest. -Mechanic' _

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	23. Unexpected Visitors

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Unexpected Visitors**

#

At this point, Tony wasn't entirely sure whether he was being hugged or held captive. He had come downstairs after getting dressed again just in time for Clint to rush through the front door. The archer had closed in on him in three large steps and wrapped his arms around him.

Clint had yet to let go and Tony was pretty sure several minutes had passed.

"Um," said Tony, giving the man's shoulder a tentative pat.

That seemed to do the trick because Clint immediately pulled back, words already pouring from his mouth. "Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "You have got to be kidding me! I was gone a week––one week––and you go and get yourself kidnapped? In broad daylight?! _ Come on! _ And before I even get the chance to come save you, you're already back and I don't get to kick anybody's ass.

_ "What happened?" _ Clint continued in sign language, expression drawn with concern. _ "Are you okay? You know Nat is going to tie your ass to a chair or something, right? Isn't Happy supposed to be your bodyguard? Why do neither of you idiots take him into places?" _

"I'm fine, Clint," Tony said, hands moving placatingly, _ "I'm sorry I worried you for nothing." _

_ "For nothing? So you weren't in any danger?" _ the blond's brow creased skeptically.

_ "Well, I was, but I handled it." _

"You shouldn't have had to handle it!" exclaimed Clint, throwing his hands up in the air. "You shouldn't be handling anything––you're supposed to be staying safe!"

"I'm supposed to be staying safe? What about you?" the brunet demanded.

"Me? I haven't been kidnapped twice in the last five months!"

"No, but how many injuries have you had? How many of those were concussions? You can't exactly get after me for not taking care of myself when you're an accident waiting to happen."

"I'm a spy. Danger kinda comes with the territory," the archer drawled. "But you––you shouldn't be getting into danger in the first place. You're a freaking genius hacker who body-doubles for a billionaire."

"I'm a weapon!" Tony snapped.

Clint drew up at that, giving him a hard look. "No, you are _ not _," he declared, his tone almost angry. "That may have been what the assholes that raised you wanted you to be, but you decided you were more than that. You chose to be a person."

Teeth clenching together, Tony diverted his gaze. The archer reached out to clasp a hand over the join between his neck and shoulder. Exerting gentle pressure, the man gave him the slightest shake.

"You are _ Tony _, and you are the smartest, bravest, strongest man that I know. You know that, right?"

"What if I'm not, entirely?" Tony asked, voice rasping in his suddenly dry throat.

Clint's other hand came up to take Tony's opposite shoulder, tilting him a bit to get him to meet his gaze. "Why would you _ say _ something like that? What happened today? Talk to me, Tones." The blond held his gaze for a long moment until Tony felt any resistance within him recede.

"I'd prefer to just tell the story once, if it's all the same to you," Tony sighed, shoulders slumping. "And that way Arno won't think he's successfully eavesdropping from around the corner."

The billionaire peeked from behind the wall with a sheepish smile. "I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but you have got uncannily good hearing," Arno said.

"Yeah," Tony murmured with a faint grimace. Because he really did have better than average hearing, didn't he? Odd how that seemed more obvious to him now.

They made their way into the living room together. At some point while Tony had been in the shower, Rhodey and Natasha had arrived. The redhead shot Tony a look that was equal parts admonishing, concerned, and relieved––though, he was sure no one besides maybe Clint was able to glean all of that from the assessing gaze she swept over him. Contritely, Tony took a seat on the sofa next to her and the assassin immediately tucked her bare feet underneath his thigh as Clint plopped down on his other side.

Food turned out to be the first order of business. Tony hadn't realized how hungry he really was until he started in on the plate Pepper had foisted upon him. They ate together in relative quiet, taking turns exchanging the occasional bit of small talk.

It was nice. Tony wondered how he'd ever lived without such camaraderie. He wondered what he'd do if he ever lost it.

Eventually, everyone was finished eating and the leftovers and plates were cleared away. There was really little reason for Tony to put off explaining what had happened. Except how much should he tell all of them? He felt that they deserved to know the truth, to know what he was capable of… that there were times that he wasn't in control. At the same time, he worried what they might think of him once they knew.

Tony feared they would look at him differently.

"There was a team of Hydra agents waiting in the restaurant," he finally began. "There were four of them inside and another three waiting in a van out back. I don't know how they knew I would be there. Maybe I've become too predictable or they saw Happy driving me there and got lucky, but they were there and they were armed. They made it clear that if I didn't go with them, they were willing to hurt everyone else in the restaurant, and I––the Huang's teenage daughter was working the register. I couldn't risk it."

"You did the right thing, Tones," Rhodey assured him while Clint bumped his shoulder. He gave a pained smile in response.

"They drove me to a warehouse on the far side of the city. Led me to a back room, two stayed to guard the door of the building, another two right outside the room. Two to guard me," Tony reported even as he was still deciding how to explain things. "Their leader had a… a book."

"A book?" Arno echoed, brow furrowing.

Tony pressed his thumb into his left palm. "A… an asset manual. With notes and instructions. A command sequence."

Natasha had straightened in her seat, understanding more about his background than the others. Her hand came to rest lightly on his forearm. A gentle pressure from her fingers made Tony turn his head to look at her. Most probably wouldn't have found much in the solemn line of her mouth or the calm directness of her gaze, nor in the subtle incline of her head. Granted, most hadn't known her long enough to recognize the manner in which she expressed herself when she wasn't putting on an act. For that matter, most hadn't been similarly trained to conceal their emotions (even though Tony had never been particularly successful at it). Tony wasn't most, of course, so he understood perfectly well.

"A command sequence for what?" Rhodey asked. "Some sort of weapon?"

Next to him, Arno looked grim, the video footage and their earlier conversation helping him to fill in some of the blanks. Pepper looked worried again, blue eyes sweeping over him as though in search of hidden injury.

"Hydra has had hundreds of assets, as you might expect," Tony said, "tools and weapons. Those that they've acquired, others that they've made… some that used to be people."

"Stop that!" Clint snapped, turning to stare at him furiously, hands clenched against the cushion of the sofa. "I already told you––you're _ not _ a weapon! So, cut it out."

"You're wrong! He just––he read a list of words out of a book and I just… I don't even remember them doing that to me, but he read those words and I was just––I was gone. I wasn't me. One minute, I'm held captive, and the next, I'm back here wearing clothes I can't remember putting on, covered in blood. _ Something _ was in control during that time. Since it wasn't me, what do you propose it was?"

"You're talking about brainwashing," Rhodey exclaimed. "Like the Manchurian Candidate? You mean to tell us a top secret organization of bad guys know how to mind control people?"

"Tony, are you sure that's the reason you don't remember?" Pepper asked tentatively, brow creased with worry. "It's not that I doubt what you experienced, but it's not uncommon for people to forget traumatic events. And after everything you've been through in your life…"

She really wasn't trying to deny his claim. Tony could easily recognize that. The words were spoken hopefully, almost desperately. It wasn't that Pepper doubted what he'd said. It was simply that she didn't want for there to be yet another thing he had to endure.

"I'm sure," Tony spoke softly. "Arno has video proof from a previous time."

Rhodey shot his best friend a look. "Seriously, man?" He probably shared Tony's opinion on Arno allowing a known danger into his home.

Tony continued before Arno or anyone else could reply. "Even without that, after today, I would have known. There's… They've done it before. Hydra's most dangerous weapon is a man they control with a command sequence, but he's different. Or I guess, I'm different. Don't know why."

"You said before that they wipe his memories, right?" Clint spoke up.

Everyone turned to look at the archer. Tony had nearly forgotten about the incident Clint had to help him out of a few years ago.

"That's right," he agreed.

"Well, wouldn't that be the difference?" the blond suggested. "You said that Hydra decided to use you in the lab, building and improving stuff. Seems to me that if their primary method of controlling a person is getting rid of their memories, they couldn't really do that to you without risking the loss of your intellect."

"That would actually make sense. It could be that getting rid of or repressing the memory is required in order for the programming to work correctly," said Arno.

"But then, how did he remember how to get back here after he escaped?" Rhodey asked.

"The programming's faulty, or at least incomplete," the billionaire responded. "Perhaps they can't coexist. Either the memory or the programming is in control while the other is suppressed. What do you think, T?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't know. They never explained anything to me that they didn't want me to know. I didn't even know I had control words until they were being read out loud."

"What we need is more information," Arno declared. "What are the odds we could get our hands on that book you mentioned?"

"Um," Tony murmured, tensing in his seat. Nat's hand tightened on his arm in response and Clint turned to look at him. "Yeah, uh, that would be… good," he hedged.

"You have the book." Natasha was the one to say it, although she likely wasn't the only one thinking it. To be fair, Tony's reaction to the question hadn't been the most subtle.

He ducked his head. "Yes. Apparently, I had it tucked in the back of my pants when I returned."

"That's good, then. We could scan the pages and have JARV––" Arno began, but Tony cut him off.

"No!"

The others looked surprised by the sharpness of his tone. He tried again.

"No, I just… I want to look at it first, myself," he said. "It's not that–– I just think I should be the first to try to figure out what was done to me. I deserve that."

"Of course, you do, Tony," said Pepper, shooting Arno a warning look.

"Yeah, man. It's your life. Just know we're here for you if you need anything," Rhodey added.

"I know," Tony told them gratefully. "I'll let you know how you can help."

"Be sure you do," said Arno. The others voiced their agreement.

#

Tony spent most of the next several days down in the workshop. He worked on one project or another until he dozed off at a desk or on the sofa or even in one of Arno's cars. At no point did he so much as consider taking the book out from under his mattress.

The first day, Arno was down there with him. After that he had had to leave on a business trip and Pepper had gone as well.

Sometime on the third day, Natasha had returned to drag Tony upstairs long enough to eat a proper meal and shower. She was gone again the next day, having to head out on a mission for SHIELD. She didn't go without an admonishment for him to take better care of himself. They both knew he would translate the order loosely.

It was by day six (or was it seven?) that Tony started to believe that maybe he'd been holed up in the basement a little too long. Not only was JARVIS issuing routine reminders that humans required rest and sustenance, but U had proceeded to cover him with a blanket any time he was still for any length of time while DUM-E and Butterfingers had surrounded him with various smoothies and snack items. Perhaps a break was in order.

"Alright," he finally conceded, eyes burning with fatigue. "You guys win."

Saving what he was working on, Tony pushed back from the desk and headed for the door. With a mumbled good night to the bots, he exited the workshop and trudged up the stairs. Although sleep in an actual bed sounded wonderful, his growling stomach suggested food should come first.

"Hey, J? What have we got to eat?" he asked as he reached the top of the stairs.

There was no answer.

"JARVIS?" Tony called warily, suddenly fully alert, senses straining. A faint sound from the living room drew his attention. On silent feet, Tony moved that direction, edging around the corner until he spotted the man staring out the windows into the night beyond. He relaxed marginally, zipping up the sweatshirt he was wearing to hide the glow of the arc reactor before stepping out into the room.

The man saw his reflection in the glass immediately, glancing up at it before turning around to face him. "There you are," he declared. "I knew you'd have to come up for air eventually."

"You disabled my AI. That's the last time you do that," Tony informed him in his best Arno Stark tone. "What are you doing in my house?"

"I thought it was high time you and I met one another. The name is––"

"Nick Fury. Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," the brunet cut the man off smoothly. "If you wanted to meet, you could have made an appointment with my PA."

Fury smirked at him, his one eye glittering with amusement. He walked closer to where Tony still stood at the other end of the room. "Somehow, I doubt that. See, I also happen to know a bit about you, as well."

"Well, considering how often I end up in the news and tabloids, it'd be a little disappointing if you didn't."

"No, no, you misunderstand," Fury shook his head. He stopped walking when he was still halfway across the room. "I know a little bit about _ you _. Hank West, wasn't it? Or was it Aleksandr Petrov? How about Thomas Whittle? Or maybe I should just call you the Mechanic."

Tony had straightened, every muscle in his body ready for action, though it remained to be seen whether that would be flight or fight. "What do you want?"

Fury extended his arms down by his sides to show that he was unarmed. It was an ineffective ploy, as Tony could readily identify several places to hide a weapon in and under the heavy trench coat the man wore.

"I just want to talk," Fury declared.

Holding the man's gaze, Tony walked down the steps into the living room. "Then talk."

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


	24. Conversations

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Conversations**

#

Tony's expression was a mask of calm indifference. He knew this was the case because even though there was apparently a lot he couldn't recall about his training and upbringing, he absolutely did remember his lessons in concealing and feigning emotions. The look he gave Fury now was unreadable.

Internally, his mind was a whirl of calculations.

Probability that Fury meant his hacker identity when referencing the Mechanic: 82%.

Time it would take to close the remaining distance between him and his uninvited guest: 3.1 seconds.

If he took the additional 1.7 seconds to detour to the nearest loveseat, he could potentially use a throw pillow to create a diversion. Said pillow would cause little damage and was unlikely to cause a sufficient diversion to aid him against a man as highly trained as the current director of SHIELD. Tony ruled it out as an option.

No, his best course of action would be to close in on the man directly, making the use of any firearm or ranged weapon less effective. Probability that the man had a concealed weapon at the small of his back, judging by his profession and the manner in which he carried himself: 97.3%. Equally high probability of other weapons concealed in shoulder and thigh harnesses and within the boots.

The trench coat, while obviously reinforced to double as lightweight body armor, could also be used––

"If you don't mind taking a short breather from cataloging ways to kill me," Fury drawled, "I'm sure we'd both prefer to keep things civil."

Which was… probably less expected than it should have been. After all, the man was a spy, surrounded by spies, assassins, and others well-versed in such arts. Tony was confident his expression had remained inscrutable. That very fact was probably what had given him away, actually.

_ Damn. _

"Go ahead. I can multitask," Tony replied easily. He had no intention of killing the man, of course, but figured that was a matter of semantics.

The corner of Fury's mouth turned up briefly. "I'm sure you can," he agreed before finally moving the conversation along. "Straight to the point, then. It turns out that two of my best agents are part of a set. I came to see what I need to do to complete my collection."

Tony shook his head. "That's really how you want to put it? Like you're collecting a bunch of knickknacks?"

"I was thinking more along the line of action figures."

"Right. Either way, I'm not interested," Tony informed him. "Thanks for dropping by. Feel free to let yourself out."

"Just like that?" Fury asked, sounding unsurprised. "You haven't even heard my offer."

For a long moment, Tony just stared at the man, deliberating how best to respond. There were only two options, really. He could be honest or he could tell Fury it was none of his business.

Then again, two of his friends worked for the man. Which left him only one true option.

"I have no interest getting in bed with someone who doesn't know what's happening under his own roof."

It was the director's turn to give a long stare. "Is that so?" It wasn't a question. "Why don't you enlighten me. Is this in any way related to whatever Barton and Romanoff have been looking into with you?"

"You noticed," said Tony, moving forward enough to lean against the corner of the loveseat. "I must be slipping or something."

Fury scoffed. "'Or something.' You don't strike me as the sort that's prone to slipping."

"I don't think you know enough about me to make that assessment, do you?"

"It's the fact that we don't know much about you that I make it," the spy asserted. "Enough word games. You just implied that you know something about my organization that I don't know. If you're even half the hacker genius Coulson seems to think you are, I'm inclined to believe you. So, out with it."

"SHIELD has an infestation. Or more of a cancer, really. It's been growing for decades, probably from the start," Tony declared.

"And does this cancer have a name?" Fury asked, starting to sound at the end of his patience.

"Hydra."

"You expect me to believe that SHIELD has been secretly infiltrated by an organization that was taken down in World War II."

"Believe what you want," Tony shrugged. "Doesn't change the fact that it's true."

"And how exactly did you come by this information?" Fury asked.

"I'm not obligated to share that with you," replied the brunet. "In fact, I think I've shared more than enough."

"Yet you expect me to take your word on it."

"Absolutely not. I expect you to take it with great skepticism and suspicion until you've had the chance to look into it and discover I'm right," Tony said.

The director inclined his head, even as he gave Tony an appraising look. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Who else knows about me?" Tony countered.

"That you exist? Quite a few, many of them in our cyber security department," the other man responded. "That you and Stark look like identical twins? That I'm aware, myself, Agents Coulson and Hill, and your two pals. And whoever else you might have informed."

"You expect me to believe that's all?"

"Believe what you like," Fury threw back at him. "Now, are you going to tell me who you are or not?"

"It's as you said, Director: I'm the Mechanic," Tony replied. "Now, get out of my house before I decide to remove you." (Probability that he could follow through with minimal difficulty and property damage: 68%.)

Either Fury was actually done with the conversation or he hadn't wanted to test Tony, the result was the same. Fury left. Tony went downstairs to bring JARVIS back online, exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

He wasn't sure which 'Mechanic' he'd been referring to with his answer.

#

Tony brought JARVIS back online then worked on improving his security until he fell asleep where he sat. He woke some hours later buried beneath every blanket and moderately soft object the workshop had to offer with a fire extinguisher tucked next to his face and a rather impressive collection of partially full mugs and power bars within reach. Across from him sat Arno, an amused expression on his face as he took in the scene.

The other man's amusement quickly fell away when Tony filled him in on his encounter with Director Fury. "JARVIS' security should be a lot tighter now," Tony said, tearing open a power bar, "but it would probably be good if you took a look, as well."

"I'll get right on that," Arno agreed seriously, raising a brow as Tony practically inhaled two power bars without really pausing between them. "I'll get Jarv to order in some food while you grab a shower and a change of clothes."

"Rude," Tony accused, knocking over several couch cushions as he turned his chair and proceeded to dig his way out of the blankets. "I'll have you know I smell fresh as a daisy."

"T, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you clearly need to have your nose checked."

Laughing as he went, Tony went off to shower and find a change of clothes. By the time he came back down, Arno had relocated the cushions and blankets to the couch frame and pizza had arrived. Tony grabbed himself a piece before plopping down in a vacant seat near the desk.

"You think that Fury guy will be a problem?" Arno asked, glancing up from the code on the monitor.

Tony shrugged. "I have no idea. Most likely, he'll take his time looking into my claim, see if he can track down any proof," he opined. "Probably'll try to locate more info on me, as well. At that point, he might try to recruit me again. Depends what he manages to find."

"You don't think he'll reveal that you've been body doubling for me?" the billionaire questioned.

"I honestly can't see how that would benefit him. He's a spy, they like to play things close to the vest," pointed out Tony. "It doesn't matter as far as my security goes. Hydra already knows where I am. Could make things difficult for you if it came out, though."

"I'm not worried about me," said Arno.

"Yeah, you never are," Tony replied, finishing off his slice of pizza.

"Categorically untrue," his friend contradicted. "I'm basically in love with myself. It's been documented."

"By gossip rags, maybe," he scoffed. "As someone who is actually acquainted with you, I happen to know that not only are you far too trusting, but you care a lot more about other people than you do yourself."

"I'm an arrogant, self-serving bastard and you know it," Arno jokingly declared.

"Well, you're right about the arrogance, at least," Tony teased.

The billionaire threw back his head and laughed. "Now, who's rude?" he shook his head as he finished up going over Tony's latest update to JARVIS' code. "I don't think you've missed anything I wouldn't have thought of, here. What do you think, Jarv? Feeling secure?"

"As secure as I have ever been, sir," JARVIS replied.

"I dunno, J, I'm still thinking we ought to give you a taser or something."

"Considering one of you or Mr. Barton would be the ones most likely to trigger such a measure, that seems somewhat inadvisable."

Arno gave an amused snort.

"You've got a point there," Tony conceded, though he privately thought Clint would be the only one truly likely to get accidentally tasered by their AI. Instead, he turned his attention back to Arno to ask, "So, you ready to see what I've been working on these last few weeks?"

"Yes," Arno answered without hesitation, making Tony grin. _ "Finally." _

#

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
